CHAP. CXVII.

THE driver, conſidering us as ſo many riotous young blades a little too joyous, had a mind to hu⯑mour our frolick; and ſo rattled over the pavement to our hearts content. For, it is very well known, one of the greateſt raptures of rakeiſm, conſiſts in making the horſes draw their car⯑riage [2]rapidly through a town; and the more noiſe they make, the more clatter occaſioned by the wheels, and the nearer they can go to a poſt, or a paſſenger, without touching, the greater reputation they acquire from thoſe who underſtand coachmanſhip, and the more like puppies, or mad⯑men they look in the eyes of thoſe grave perſons, who want taſte, or (as theſe young gentlemen more elegantly term it) ſpunk, for ſuch exerciſes.

With the advantage of all this eclat, we arrived at the Common, and were introduced not only to Mr. Blake's pretty villa, but to Mr. Blake's pretty houſe-keeper, as he called her; and, to do her juſtice, as fine a woman ſhe was, in point of perſon, as ever adorned a houſe.

[3]I was ſober enough to diſcern the indelicacy of Blake's carrying us be⯑fore a lady, in the pickle we then were; and indeed this became more glaring, before we had been half an hour in her company; for Green had ſo inebriated himſelf with the Champaigne, and the violent joys at⯑tending it, that it was neceſſary to re⯑move him into a leſs elegant apart⯑ment, where he might once more try the reſtorative virtues of ſleep; and Mr. Smack, whoſe eyes worked in his head like a whirligig, propoſed a walk in the garden, as the moſt ſalu—tif— er—a—riouſly thing in the world, as the Po—et ſays, in theſe caſes. While Mrs. Blake (for ſo ſhe was ſometimes called, though much oftner houſe⯑keeper Kitty) prepared the tea, Mr. [4]Blake (who appeared to be a dull, obliging, hard-drinking man) con⯑ducted us into his garden, which really exhibited inſinitely more taſte, than I imagined belonged to the pro⯑prietor; yet now, the choice of his garden, and the choice of his wife, much more indeed than the choice of his companions, raiſed him very con⯑ſiderably in my opinion. Mr. Smack, dizzy as he was, was in an extacy, and ſaid that he was then in his element.

I congratulated Mr. Blake, on a reſidence at once ſo pleaſing and ſo contiguous to the metropolis. It is an agreeable ſpot, I muſt confeſs, replied Blake, and it is rendered more ſo, by being my own property, and yet there is a material objection— [5]an objection that ſometimes keeps me away from it whole months, in the middle of ſummer: do you ſee that houſe immediately oppoſite to me? If that houſe had been placed in any other part of the univerſe, I might have been happy; but as that is not the caſe, drunk or ſober, I look at it with indignation. Why ſo, ſaid I, ſurely it is rather a decoration, than a diſgrace: methinks the ſcene would want ſomething without it.

Now, I think, reſumed Blake, it is a moſt abominable eye-ſore, and I cannot bear to look upon it: It is the habitation of a fellow, without either heart or ſoul, who hath done me the baſeſt injury, and whom I would not ſave from the tortures of the rack, if it were to be done without [6]inconvenience or expence! curſed be the moment in which he purchaſed that villa—he bought it—yes Benig⯑nus, the raſcal bought it, on purpoſe to overlook me, and turn my poor little retreat into a ſeat of torment.

Here the agonies of a violent an⯑tipathy encreaſed ſo faſt upon him, that his houſekeeper, who overheard him, and knew his humour, deſired Mr. Smack to perſuade him in, to tea.

This unaccountable execration per⯑fectly petrified me, and I was fairly ſobered by ſurprize: God protect us! (ſaid I, in one of my whiſpers) what very poor creatures we are! here is a man now, placed by thy indulgence in a perfect Eden, hath the love and ſociety of a fair, and no doubt, [7]amiable companion; ſeems to com⯑mand all the real proſperities of life, even to a degree of luxury; and yet, torn to pieces by a hateful paſſion, even averſion to his neighbour, might as well have been placed by thy deſtiny in a dungeon, into which the bleſſed beams of thy animating ſun never penetrated, nor any of his pre⯑ſent comforts be permitted to viſit him—! not forgive! triumph in ma⯑lice! cheriſh implacability! one fel⯑low-creature, ſet his heart propenſely againſt another! ſie upon it. Ah wherefore am I thus perpetually upon the hunt to examine and promote felicity? How ſhall, how can it be promoted, when thoſe whom Provi⯑dence have ſo peculiarly favoured, reſolve to be at once impious, and, [8]what indeed I begin to feel is the conſequence of impiety, to be wretched?

Mr. Blake's fit of ſpleen was ſoon over, and he drank his tea with that dull compoſure which was character⯑iſtic of him, except when, as in the late inſtance, his paſſions were worked upon, by any immediate object of their deteſtation. His houſe-keeper appeared very agreeable at the tea⯑table, and ſave that, now and then a word dropt from her, not quite ſo feminine, ſuch as, conſume it, con⯑found it, pax rat it, and the dee'l (meaning the devil abbreviated) ſhe ſuſtained herſelf vaſtly well. To me ſhe was particularly civil, and aſked me the common edifying queſtions of the tea-table, ſuch as whether my cup [9]was ſweet or not, &c. &c. with ſuch a ſmile upon her face, that had not Blake been preſent, her own heart engaged, and the object ſmiled upon, more of a coxcomb than Benignus, it certainly might have been inter⯑preted into a ſort of an overture: for the language of ſmiles, is really very intelligible to a keen obſerver, and they often mark the ſentiment of the ſoul ſo obviouſly and diſtinctly, that he muſt be a novice indeed who miſtakes them. However, I took it for granted this fair houſe-keeper was in truth Blake's wife, and ſo her ſmile paſſed off, as the courteſy of a mighty good-natured woman; who, finding her huſband not in a very entertaining humour, thought it in⯑cumbent upon her to make the viſit [10]as pleaſing to her gueſts as poſſible. A brimming baſon of tea was ſent to Mr. Green, who, ſoon after drinking it, made his appearance again in the parlour; and Mr. Smack obſerving that the ſun was down, ſaid he muſt take his leave: a motion which I readily ſeconded. Blake urged us to ſtay ſupper, or at leaſt inſiſted that now I had been ſhewed the way, I would come often to Kennington; Aye, do ſir, ſaid Mrs. Blake, and when he is not at home, I will do my beſt to deſerve the favour of your com⯑pany, ſo name the day.

This requeſt was accompanied by another of thoſe ſmiles, that made it irreſiſtible; and I promiſed to wait upon them on the next Sunday: this ſatisfied them: Mr. Green took me [11]aſide under pretence of doing a little buſineſs for him in town, and bid, me, half blind as he was, not, at any time to go to Blake's without him, Alexander Green; and then, declaring that I was a lad of a thouſand, ſuf⯑fered me to depart.

CHAP. CXVIII.

Mr. Smack, and I walked leiſurely to town, and what is ſtrange, without an adventure: Smack, indeed, fre⯑quently made a pauſe againſt the pales of a garden, and told me, that he was very certain the owners ought to think themſelves thrice happy, as the poet ſays; though once, continued he, once Benignus, I knew a man, [12]a Mr. Budbright (that had the fineſt garden in all Kent) as wretched a mortal as ever was born: this Mr. Budbright was a profeſſed floriſt: if his tulips were more prettily ſtreaked this year than the laſt he was happy, but then, if he ſaw in any other man's garden, a finer tulip than he could ſhew in his, he would be taken ſick upon it directly: Lord, how have I heard him curſe the weather! the ſun for being too hot, the ſhade for being too cool, the hail for pattering down a pink, the rain for drowning this flower, the heat for drying up that: why I remember, I was once at his houſe on a very fine day, which tempted him to uncover ſeveral little nurſeries of xoticks as the poet ſays, and he was juſt going to diſplay the [13]beauty of theſe to me, when a dark cloud made him take to his legs (and knock down one of his children, as it ſtood in the way) that he might cover his precious plants, before they re⯑ceived any injury from the wet. But who can manage the fates, as the poet has it? The ſhower fell very heavy on the ſudden, before he got to the plants, and this put Budbright into ſuch a paſſion, that he quarrelled with his wife all dinner-time, and made my viſit ſo diſagreeable, that I left him to his humours, as ſoon as I decently could: for though I love flowers, Mr. Benignus, I love the God that made them ſtill better, and I don't in the leaſt doubt but he knows better than I (though I am a tolerable judge to be ſure) when to keep the [14]ſhower, and when to let it fall upon the tender yerb, as the Poet ſays.

I told Mr. Smack, that I perfectly agreed with him as to the knowledge of Providence, and aſked him, what opinion he had of his friends Blake, and Green, as the Poet ſays? The leaſt is ſaid the ſooner is it mended, replied Smack: they are two merry men, and I now and then am treated by both of them very civilly. But what think you, ſaid I, of Mrs. Blake? Why as to Mrs. Blake, ſaid Smack, ſhutting one eye—the leaſt is ſaid, the ſooner is it mended there too —as to Mrs. Blake, I think ſhe is—a —very merry woman.

As it was evident Mr. Smack had ſome reaſons for ſpeaking ſo reſerv⯑edly, poſſibly becauſe he was now and [15]then treated civilly, I had not curioſity enough to fiſh for intelligence, where the prey was prepared to expect a hook under the bait, and ſo, finding we had by this time got pretty far into town, I called a coach, wiſhed Mr. Smack a good evening, as the poet has it, and then made the beſt of my way to Mr. Draper's.

CHAP. CXIX.

Poor, ſaid I, as I rolled along, poor and ineffectual are the pleaſures of diſſipation. I went out in the morn⯑ing with an aching heart, and I come home in the evening with an aching head. Nor is the heart much lighter than it was: I have paſſed, or rather [16]thrown away many hours, like a wretched ſtroller as I am, in ſearch of a benefit, I have not yet found; and the vanity that led me to hope relief from the gaieties of giddy com⯑pany, have produced little more than additional vexation!

As I approached Dover-ſtreet, my heart began to beat more briſkly; and as I ſaw the door of Draper, I trem⯑bled from top to bottom. Upon going in I aſked for Mr. Draper, and was told by his valet that ſeveral letters were for me, upon the library table, and amongſt others one from his maſter, who was not to be at home till the next day. I hurried up ſtairs the faſter for this intelligence, and ſhutting the library door ap⯑proached the table. No leſs than four [17]letters were waiting my peruſal, and three of them in the ſame character— a character I did not even look upon without emotion: the other was a billet from my friend Draper, which, in flat oppoſition to the impulſes of my heart, I was reſolved to read firſt. I here give a copy of it to the reader.

"Draper is well, and happy, but the leſs ſo, as an indiſpenſible circumſtance (that ſhall not long be concealed) will detain him to night, and perhaps to⯑morrow, from the company of Be⯑nignus."

This card without date, &c. ſent by a porter who was to ſtay for no anſwer, puzzled me: however, as my thoughts were too partially en⯑gaged another way, I left the unrid⯑dling [18]of it to himſelf, who was in⯑deed pretty enigmatical in his own conduct, and character. And now came on the moment of trial: the others were evidently from Lucy, and every one of them bore the marks of a hand and heart diſturbed, even in the folding and ſealing: I debated whether I ſhould read them, or deſ⯑troy them unread. I put them into my pocket, and twiſting my arms, into a kind of philoſophical fold, traverſed the room. Yes, ſaid I I am equal even to this, to read is to ruin: I will repreſs the fatal curioſity. Yet ſurely there can be no harm in hearing what ſhe ſays—perhaps ſhe has good-naturedly taken leave of me —perhaps ſhe applauds my deſign— perhaps ſhe may want ſome little [19]additional accommodation, — per⯑haps—perhaps—

Here I drew one of the letters again out of my pocket, and fum⯑bling at the wax (even as I had again begun a meditation on the danger of it) had broken it gradually open, and held it up to my face, half unfolded. I ſaw the tender epithet of "moſt dear Benignus," at the top, and had the courage to ſhut my eyes, then preſſing it gently up, buttoned it into my boſom, and ſat down in a chair.

And art thou grown inhuman Be⯑nignus, ſaid I? Not read the letter of thy Lucy! Art not thou enough maſter of thyſelf, to perſevere in the rigid plan thou haſt laid down as the rule of thy future conduct, but thou ſuſpecteſt thy relapſing even on [20]the receipt of a letter: put more con⯑fidence in thyſelf: thou art ſtronger than thou thinkeſt!

This mode of reaſoning ſoon re⯑conciled me to the matter in hand, and I believe I ſhould have been able (with the aſſiſtance of the ſeducing paſſions, that were now in arms) to argue myſelf into the propriety of ſhooting a bolt, or picking a lock. I took another letter from my pocket, and unfolded it with a violence that tore the paper. You have, worthy reader, a fair copy of the contents underneath.

Poor girl, (ſaid I, on reading this) the touches of nature, and tenderneſs [22]are too evident: but I am glad to find her bear it ſo well. How could I be afraid to open letters that con⯑tain nothing whatever to alarm or to ſoften me into a relapſe. I per⯑ceive I may read them all very ſafely. This encouraged me to open the ſe⯑cond epiſtle; that, which remained in the pocket.

This letter occaſioned too much agitation, notwithſtanding the old [24]hackneyed Roſamond-pond images, of death, bowls and daggers in it, to permit remarks; and ſo, in order to wound myſelf completely, I took from my boſom what follows.

[26] Here the paper dropt from my trembling hand; I ſtruck that hand upon my heart, and the heart obe⯑dient to the blow, brought the tears of remorſe and agony into my eye. As ſoon as words found their way, I exclaimed in a reprobating tone of voice—a baſtard! and have I, after all my benevolence, all my affected delicacy been inſtrumental to the life of a Being that muſt paſs its days in ſhame, ridicule, and ignominy—and yet—ſhall the poor parent ſuffer for this—ſhall the weary and painful hours of the woman in travail, be made more bitter by the neglect of the very man who hath brought on her growing calamity—ah no! forbid it humanity, forbid it nature. It would now be impious to leave her. [27]I will go this moment—perhaps even now ſhe—even now—

I put the letters into my pocket, and went expeditiouſly down ſtairs, the clock ſtriking ten as I reached the laſt ſtep. I ſhall ſleep out to night Crimpa, ſaid I; and went into the ſtreet, without thinking of my ſupper.

CHAP. CXX.

I continued abſolutely to run, till I arrived at the lodgings of Lucy, which I no ſooner entered, than the bewitching creature ran to me, and gave me ſuch a kiſs of welcome as completely did for me. In the dining⯑room was ſitting, even at that time [28]of the night, an ill-looking but well⯑dreſſed elderly woman: Lucy met me on the ſtairs, and telling me ſhe had been very ill all day, and very lone⯑ſome, had been obliged to an old country acquaintance to ſit a little with her, but you may go now Mrs. Trickmaid, ſaid ſhe, I ſhall be very well now my dear Benignus is come. The old Lady curteſied ceremoniouſly, and paraded down ſtairs with great pomp; and, not thinking her worth a queſtion, or rather not having time to aſk unintereſting queſtions, I had a tongue only for Lucy, whom I treated with much greater tender⯑neſs than ever. And are you not angry with me Benignus, ſaid ſhe, for the additional expence I am likely to bring upon you, or are you now [29]come to take leave of me for ever? However, be that as it may, the hap⯑pineſs of this night ſhall not be made worſe than it ought to be, by painful anticipation. Saying this, ſhe took me in her arms, dropt her head, as if unable to ſupport it, upon my boſom, and—we did not ſleep in ſeparate chambers.

Early in the morning, the ſervant came into the bed room, to inform Lucy, that the jeweller was come again. Hang the fellow, ſaid Lucy, for diſturbing us, what ſhall we ſay to him, Benignus—ſay, my dear, replied I, pay him this moment to be ſure, and I aſk your pardon that I ſhould have forgotten to incloſe a ſufficient bill for the purpoſe; but the diſorder I was in yeſterday morning will ex⯑cuſe [30]it to you. Nay, ſaid Lucy, I am now very indifferent as to ſuch mat⯑ters: I have got you again Benignus, and no other jewel upon earth can add to the luſtre of my preſent hap⯑pineſs.

The well-timed tenderneſs of this ſpeech, would have made me pay with pride and pleaſure, a bill of larger amount than the preſent: although the earings were no trifles in point of price neither, bearing no leſs a valuation than 200 guineas. Upon talking with the trader, I could not help ſaying it appeared to me a moſt monſtrous price for ſo ſmall a trinket.

The ſmaller the more elegant, my dear, ſaid Lucy, but I think as well as you, Mr. Knicknack might abate ſomething.

[31]Abate, madam, ſaid Knicknack— not a ſixpence—I don't get a guinea by them, and I would not ſell them ſo cheap to any body elſe, in the world—but as you are likely to be a cuſtomer, why—I won't ſtand with you, and therefore I have been at a word. But won't you have the neck⯑lace along with them Madam? It is a thouſand pities to part them. They are for all the world like brother and ſiſter, or rather like man and wife, and ſo pray madam let them go to⯑gether—oh fie—how can you wear the earings without the necklace: 'tis impoſſible, is it not ſir?

Don't tell me ſaid Lucy, I am ſorry to put the gentleman to the charge of the earings, and I will give you [32]ten guineas out of my own pocket, to take them again.

I was ſo well pleaſed with this generous conduct of Lucy's, that I was reſolved to reward it: and, pray Mr. Knicknack ſaid I, what would be the charge of this necklace? I can afford it to you ſir, at two hundred more, and I would not ſell it ſo dog cheap to my own father.

Poor Lucy had ſuffered ſo much upon my account on the yeſterday, and had given ſuch manifeſt tokens of a good diſpoſition, that I e'en de⯑ſired (to uſe the jeweller's phraſe) this brilliant couple, might be ſtrictly united; and gave him a draft upon Mr. Parſons of Chancery-lane, for the ſum of four hundred guineas. Lucy [33]took me again into her arms, and ſaid, that I had now made her happy beyond expreſſion!

CHAP. CXXI.

I thought myſelf ſo bound to Lucy by the ties of nature, at leaſt till the birth of the child, and pro⯑viſion of the mother, that inſtead of finding more arguments againſt, I did every thing to favour thoſe ideas, which ſuggeſted the contrary; and as to the guilt of the connexion, I thought of that as little as poſſible: indeed, the fact was, I had not the confidence to give way to reflections of that ſort, leſt I ſhould be tempted a ſecond time to deſert the now preg⯑nant [34]Lucy. Nay, I will fairly own to the reader, even at the hazard of ſinking in his eſtimation, that I had two or three ſevere conflicts with myſelf, whether, as an honeſt man, notwithſtanding the looſe life of Lucy, I ought not, before the birth of the babe, to ſanctify, as it were, its ap⯑pearance in this world by a lawful acknowledgement of Lucy as my wife. Whom, ſaid I, whom have I to fear, but the terrors of my own conſcience? Whom have I to pleaſe, but my own heart, and the good God that gave it?

By an act of indubitable equity, it is now in my power to render ho⯑nourable, the life of that creature I have begotten, which will otherwiſe be ſpent in diſgrace: the mother too, [35]has been indiſcreet, but is young in error, and may, by being led into the purer path, walk in it the reſidue of her days, with delicacy, with dignity, and proper attention to the double duties of wife and parent. What hinders me then from yielding to ſuch benevolence? Why ſhould I he⯑ſitate to do that, which is thus urged by the approbation of reaſon, and juſtice? I know not indeed as yet any of Lucy's family; I know not from whom ſhe ſprang, by whom ſhe was ruined, nor to whom ſhe is related. Hitherto I have conſidered her as the object of dalliance; and I was alſo cautious of entering into ſubjects that might heighten my perplexity: but the caſe is now altered; ſhe has cer⯑tainly been conſtant to me, and the [36] effect of that conſtancy is, unleſs I pro⯑vide againſt it, likely to be her greateſt misfortune. Were I to ſuffer this, I ſhould be a diſcourager of fidelity, and an enemy to that ten⯑derneſs which is the very cement of continued and progreſſive ſociety.

On the other hand I argued, what many a man no doubt in ſimilar cir⯑cumſtances has argued before me, that ſuch a union would ſubject me to the ridicule of all my friends, and the abſolute deſertion of all my rela⯑tions: that it would particularly pique the pride of the Darlingtons, and that even Draper's negative would be flat againſt it.

Well, ſaid I, and what of all this? ſhall the fooliſh cenſure of a world, led in the triumphant ſhackles of [37]cuſtom, browbeat me from a point I feel to be ſo very conſiſtent with what is right? I thank heaven neither ſyſ⯑tems, nor adventures, nor the con⯑tradictory ſentiments they have ex⯑hibited to me, have as yet, had any weight with me to alter the great duty I firſt cheriſhed of "doing to others, as I would they ſhould do unto me;" and, in poor Lucy's cir⯑cumſtances, I am ſure the duty to be done is too apparent to be ne⯑glected: nay, it comes recommended to me under the moſt touching and pathetic incidents: methinks I hear the helpleſs little infant plead its own tender cauſe: imagination aſſiſts me even to perſonify the ſcene. See, ſee the unfriended Being beſeeches me to own it—the father is ſupplicated to [38]acknowledge his own child—the mo⯑ther too, prevented by delicacy from making the requeſt, looks up to me for protection, points out to me the features that moſt reſemble the parent, kiſſes the beloved ſimilitude, and only ventures to obſerve in a whiſper, that had it been born in wedlock, it might one day become a joy to the wife, an ornament to the father, and a credit to ſociety.

And were theſe arguments made to be reſiſted, were ſuch advocates ever ſuffered to plead in vain? Avert it nature; avert it all that is godlike in the compoſition of man.

The concluſion of the whole matter was this: I will certainly have ſome very ſerious converſation with Lucy on this ſubject, and if I find her as [39]deſerving in other reſpects, as I know her to be in ſome, I will overlook the circumſtance of her firſt misfortune, and make her, in ſpite of all the op⯑poſing world, neither more nor leſs, than the lawful wife of Benignus.

CHAP. CXXII.

Let the Reader ſay what he pleaſes, the very center of my heart was cheared by this reſolution, and pro⯑miſing Lucy I would dine with her, I took my morning-walk with a ſatis⯑faction to which, till then, I had been a ſtranger.

And now I paid my ſecond viſit to the unfortunate wife of the Grocer, in conformity to my intention. I [40]found Mrs. Brawn at the place ap⯑pointed, and gave her five guineas, with a deſire that ſhe ſhould get her⯑ſelf decently equipped, and in a com⯑fortable lodging; and then told her I had a ſcheme in view that I hoped would make her once more happy; that is, ſaid I, upon the ſuppoſition that you would not oppoſe any thing that might have a tendency to bring you and your huſband together again. Mrs. Brawn was ſo elevated at the ſight of the money, that ſhe promiſed any thing, though it is probable ſhe ſcarce knew to what ſhe aſſented. She would go, ſhe ſaid, and do as I bid her directly, and hoped God would bleſs every ſtep I took from this would to the next. In a few days then, Mrs. Brawn, added I, you [41]will give me a call, agreeable to a di⯑rection; and I now gave her one of Draper's printed cards, containing his addreſs; which Mrs. Brawn, wrapt up in a piece of paper, and put in her boſom. Having taken notice that her handerchief was clean, her cap new, and her apron freſh waſhed ſince I ſaw her the day before. I told her that I perceived my laſt money was well beſtowed—that I ſaw ſhe was ſtill a houſewife, and that ſhe gave me encouragement, from theſe pro⯑ſpects, to continue my aſſiſtance while it ſhould be wanted: which, ſaid I, both for your ſake and your huſband's (who is, no doubt, by this time ſorry for his imprudence) will not be long.

[42]From Mrs. Brawn, I took a ſtrole into Dover-ſtreet, to ſee if any freſh meſſages had arrived from the abſent Draper. Nothing from my maſter, ſir, ſaid the ſervants, but here is a letter from ſome other perſon, and the porter has been waiting near an hour for an anſwer. If the ſentiments of this letter ſurpriſe the reader as much as they did me, he will be ſur⯑priſed indeed.

Without either date or addreſs was this very wonderful epiſtle ſent to Dover-ſtreet, nor could the porter give me any ſatisfactory anſwer; for the anſwer was to be carried to a coffee⯑houſe, and wait till called for. How⯑ever I ſealed up the only three guineas [44]I had about me, and truſted it as de⯑ſired by the meſſenger: he was ſcarce gone before I diſcovered a ſlip of paper that was encloſed in Green's letter to the following purport. Green's poſtſcript was:

The incloſed was open, and addreſſed To Mr. Lemuel Dab, in Poet's nook, at Mr. Peper's, the 2d door, 4 pair of ſtairs, St. Giles's.

CHAP. CXXIII.

That Mr. Green could preſerve the ſame equality of temper—or rather, that he could ſo ſoon accommodate himſelf to the ſudden reverſes of fortune was aſtoniſhing; the more eſpecially, that he could be calm enough to talk about happineſs with⯑out ſix-pence in his pocket: yet I muſt own I was exceedingly ſtruck with the direction and recommen⯑datory letter he had given me to Mr. Lemuel Dab, whom, as I had two or [46]three hours upon my hands before dinner, I was reſolved to viſit upon the mere principles of curioſity. With⯑out more delay then, I began (for the firſt time in my life) my journey into St. Giles's, where, after infinite diffi⯑culty, I found out the dark paſſage that led me to Mr. Peper's, the land⯑lord of Mr. Lemuel.

The coachman had no ſooner opened the door, than a difficulty aroſe; for lo! I had not a ſingle ſix-pence in my pocket, having ſent the very laſt run⯑ning caſh I had to Green. The fare was only a ſhilling, and yet that was twelve pence more than I could com⯑mand. I told the driver very fairly my ſituation, and added, if he would call on me where he took me up, to-morro morning, I would double his pay. As to that maſter, ſaid the coachman, [47]I don't know you, nor do you know me; ſo I think the beſt way would be not to truſt one another: beſides, many gentlemen come out of great houſes that never get admittance into them again; and yet, very few gen⯑tlemen come out of ſuch a houſe as that, where I took your honour up, and come to ſuch a d—m—d up-and⯑down place as this: and though I don't ſuppoſe this to be your honour's caſe, ſeeing that you are very well dreſſed, yet I doubt if your honour can't pay me one ſhilling to day, it may not be quite ſo convenient to pay two to-morrow: moreover, ſir, it is but a good twelve penny-worth, and to be ſure the friend you are going to ſee, can lend your honour ſuch a trifle.

[48]Od'ſo, ſaid I, that's true friend; I'll ſtep up to the gentleman, and borrow the value of your debt; ſtand to your horſes therefore, and I'll be with you in a minute. This trouble, however, the coachman was too polite to put me to, rather chooſing, like a well⯑bred man that knew his buſineſs, to attend me cloſely, till we had no farther to do with one another. Af⯑ter paſſing through many ſtrange la⯑byrinths, even before we aſcertained the tenement, and then climbing a flight of ſtairs at once broken and dirty, we came to a dark little door, on which was paſted a paper label, with the words, "Lemuel Dab." thereon. As I knocked for admit⯑tance, the coachman looked at me, as much as to ſignify his ſuſpicions, that [49]out of that houſe would come no ſhillings. I took it for granted, and told him by way of reply, that he might ſtare, but that whatever he might think of it, the happieſt man in England lived in that hut, notwith⯑ſtanding his ſuſpicions.

By this time, the lord of the man⯑ſion opened the door, and demanded our buſineſs. I delivered my teſti⯑monials, and while he was reading them, I recollected in his features, the marks of the very Lemuel, whom I had already ſeen at the ſhop of Mr. Luton the bookſeller, with whoſe ingenious method of dealing with his authors, the reader is pre acquainted.

Mr. Lemuel Dab now offered his hand with great tokens of hoſpitality, and invited me into his apartments: [50]but here the coachman again inſiſted upon his ſhare of attention. Without more ado, I told Lemuel my embarraſſ⯑ment, and the aukward ſtate of my uvelle perplexity; concluding with de⯑ſiring the loan of a ſhilling. I have but three halfpence, ſir, ſaid Lemuel, or you ſhould have it joyfully, but what of that? Theſe trifles are ſettled inſtantly. What have you got about you of value? I took out of my pocket a tweezer-caſe, which very luckily hap⯑pened to be of ſilver, an opera glaſs, and a pocket-book with ſilver claſps. Why, ſir, cried Lemuel, you carry the Indies about you, and can you poſſi⯑bly be diſtreſſed about a ſhilling? Sit down three minutes, and I will ac⯑commodate you.

[51]Lemuel took the tweezer-caſe, and went out, while the coachman and I remained in his lucubratory, which, in point of exterior, ſurpaſſed every thing but the lucubrator.

Sweet heaven, ſaid I, what a variety of minds haſt thou created: ſome peo⯑ple would ſhudder to be only in poſ⯑ſeſſion of three halfpence, while an⯑other accounts it ſufficient to his fe⯑licity. But with how little ceremony does this man ſet off to fell my pro⯑perty. If he is not the happieſt man, he has the happieſt way of doing an unaccountable thing I ever knew ſince I was born: but the tweezer-caſe is a bauble, and ſo let it go; beſides, I have no other way of getting rid of this fellow, and 'tis all very well.

[52]Theſe cogitations were interrupted by the return of Lemuel, who put into my hand the value of half a guinea in ſilver, and a little ſlip of paſteboard, written upon, and notched at the edges,—that ſaid Lemuel you'll put into your pocket-book, and ſo the buſineſs is ſettled. I gave the man his ſhilling and an additional ſix⯑pence for waiting, which he took without pulling off his hat, or pre⯑tending to thank me, and went ſneer⯑ing down ſtairs.

CHAP. CXXIV.

Mr. Lemuel and I, ſoon entered into familiar converſation, in the courſe of which I gave him, at his [53]requeſt, a partial ſketch of my ad⯑ventures, ſuppreſſing what I thought would not tell to my advantage: and at the concluſion I aſked him, whether he thought any of the ways I had purſued, or ſeen, were the ways to Happineſs?

The way to Happineſs? Why how can'ſt thou be ſo prepoſterous? ſaid Lemuel. The road is as plain as a pike ſtaff. Your adventures are diver⯑ſified and agreeable, without being uſeful, and they prove to me but one ſingle truth.

And what is that? ſaid I.

That all thy faculties, rejoined the philoſopher, were given thee only to torment thee: that curioſity is the bowl, and ſenſibility the dagger by which thou art deſtroyed—that every [54]ſenſible property about thee, touch, taſte, ſight, ſmell, and every thing elſe, organic, animal, and homun⯑cular, is of no more uſe to thee than the freckles upon thy chin, or the mole upon thy cheek-bone! and that, in one ſentence, thou art altogether the moſt unaccountable biped that ever ſnapt at thy own ſhadow, and miſtook the real reaſons for which the ſubſtance was created. Reduce happineſs into a ſyſtem indeed! reduce the many-coloured clouds into a nutſhell! what the peſtilence is the matter with thee? Always complain⯑ing of ill treatment, and going about the world to complain of matters that are mighty well as they are! I am glad however, that by means of my friend Mr. Green, you are come [55]in my way. I will take compaſſion on thy inexperience, and it ſhall be thy own fault if thou art ever un⯑happy again, let what will befall thee —ſit ſtill—attend.

In the gratitude of my ſoul, I put up a ſilent ejaculation, and made my⯑ſelf certain that my hour was now really come, and that I ſhould paſs the reſt of my life in ſmiles.

Our three-halfpenny philoſopher, caught up his pen with a gravity of muſcles that portended ſomething extraordinary, then, giving a myſtical flouriſh with his elbow, waving it ſemicircularly, he wrote upon a ſmall piece of blotted copy-paper the fol⯑lowing words in large ſcrambling capitals.

Now for it, ſaid I, throbbing with expectation! the ceremony is ſo aweful, that I dare ſay the ſyſtem or precept to which it leads, is ſolid and infallible: there is an air of divination in the very poſture of the penman as he now ſits, ſwelling over the majeſty of his ſubject. I would not interrupt him for the univerſe.

CHAP. CXXVI.

After two or three minutes parade, he wrote under this promiſing title, one pithy period, in which the rules of Horace were ſo ſtrictly obſerved, [57]that it conſiſted only of ſix words, which he wrote in a Roman text hand thus, ‘Take Things as You Find Them.’

Here he laid down his pen, pointed with his finger to the maxim, and looked me full in the face; at laſt he addreſſed me thus, What think you now ſir, eh? Have not I done your buſineſs completely?

Pray go on, dear friend, ſaid I haſtily, pray go on. Go on rejoined Lemuel, knitting his brows: aye, I thought ſo: I knew you would be at that ſport! Why, where the peſti⯑lence would you have me go to? No, ſir, I ſhall go no farther; I can go no farther. The great nicety to be ob⯑ſerved in every thing human is this, [58] KNOW WHEN TO STOP. Why I have done man, totally done: engrave it in letters of adamant—en⯑grave it on a plate of gold, ſurrounded by gems of precious price, and let it be hung by a ſilver chain around thy neck.

Engrave what, Mr. Lemuel? ſaid I.

What? replied he; oh blindneſs! why the golden rule I have given thee: there it is, the greateſt, wiſeſt, and the moſt wholeſome ſyſtem upon the face of the earth. ‘Take Things as You Find Them.’

Preach to eternity you can prove no more: unſettle by ſyſtems and long-laboured literary roundabouts, the very marrow in the hollow of your bones, you can come no cloſer to the ultimatum of all things de⯑firable, [59] that you may depend upon. Only obſerve this rule, and if it does not bring you through, even as it brought me through, why my name is not Lemuel Dab. Why, ſir, I found my ſyſtem on a baſis of braſs, even upon the fundamentals of 40 years ex⯑perience, and if I were to laſt 400 years longer, which I ſcarcely ſhall, it would remain the ſame infallible axiom. Well do I remember the time, when, made petulant by proſperity, and ſoftened by a worſe, becauſe a higher ſituation than that in which you now find me; rendered peeviſh and effeminate I ſay, by theſe things, I uſed to quarrel with every thing around me, that did not hit my hu⯑mour to a tittle. I gave the ſlack rein to my paſſions, and they hurried me [60]into many ſorry ſcrapes that only made me more wayward. When I was angry I made no ſcruple to knock down a table, a chair, a glaſs, or a flower pot, if it ſtood in my way. I fell out, even with theſe inanimate objects. I could not eat, if my din⯑ner had the turn of the ſpit too much, or too little, without curſing the cook. I could not drink, if my beer taſted too much or too little of the hop without damning the brewer. I ſaw, or fancied I ſaw imperfections in every thing, but God took pity on me, ſir, and deprived me of what is called my proſperous circumſtances, in order to open the eyes of my perverted un⯑deſtanding: a few good, ſubſtantial ſtrokes upon the heart cooled me wonderfully—the loſs of an eſtate to [61]which I was born (that fell a prey to the lawyers) ſettled me perfectly; and a little obſervation upon the af⯑fairs of men, aſſured me, that I might kick, and prance, and give myſelf airs, but it would all be to no purpoſe: that I ſhould only live anxious, and go down into the grave ſooner, for acting the ſelf-tormentor; and tearing my body and conſtitution all to pieces: ſo, in progreſs of my practiſing theſe wiſer ſentiments, I found myſelf gradually better and better able to go through the twenty-four hours, let what will happen in them, without acting either like a ſtoic or a madman: I ſtill felt, but I found it now and then politic, not to ſhew that I did ſo: I was obliged to live by dealing in a commodity few know to value, [62]and ſtill fewer chooſe to purchaſe, even by retailing out the few wits that the Lord had lent me. I ſtill continue to tug at this oar, and I can⯑not boaſt of my riches to be ſure: but then I am ſure I am as contented as if I had the poſſeſſion of the Bank: I have my own ſet of pleaſures, and they alleviate my pains. I can look upon a coach without wiſhing to be in it; at a cart, without thinking that is preferable to a coach; at a wheel-barrow, without wiſhing to trundle it; and at this ſtupendous City of London, with a ſigh, to think that I know there are ſo very few a match, in reſpect to happineſs, for a fellow who has but three-halfpence, and an Eſſay on Fortune, that will produce two ſhillings, upon the face [63]of the earth. In ſhort ſir, I have brought myſelf to this, and have done it, all by adhering to the only rule that was able to accompliſh ſuch a taſk: even by ‘Taking Things as I Found Them.’

CHAP. CXXV.

You ſee how happy I am, continued the philoſopher; ſemper eadem, the ſame to day, to morrow, and for ever: but enough of this, follow my little rule, and you will be as happy, as myſelf. In the mean time, what ſay you to adjourning to ſome ſnug apart⯑ment, for the enjoyment of a cruſt, and a can of two-penny; drink, for the deities. I have no money indeed, [64]as I told you, except juſt ſufficient for a good dinner, yet three farthings ſhould have been deducted from my three halfpence to accommodate you, had it been neceſſary. This however, is out of the queſtion: you have a wealthy pocket; you, to-day, I to⯑morrow; ſuch is the balance of things, ſuch is the fair and ſquare, of heav⯑enly government: hill and dale, up hill, down hill, and all for variety: come then, my friend, let us go forth to our regalement.

We went forth as he called it, and in travelling down ſtairs, the philo⯑ſopher obſerved, there was a purity in the air of his lucubratory, that we ſhould ſorely miſs, when we got lower, into a denſer atmoſphere. The higher we climb, ſaid he, the nearer [65]to the gods, Benignus: as we verge towards earth, and the mundane ſyſtem, we convolve with the dirt: but we muſt take things as we find them, you know; and ſo, on my friend, to the place that was made to receive the foot of man.

CHAP. CXXVI.

This Mr. Lemuel, was really ſo prejudicing a figure, that even his darling rule of, "taking things as we find them," could ſcarce reconcile one to him. From top to toe, he was ſo uniformly uncouth, that ſo far from its being poſſible to conſider any peculiar oddity, he was all over a compound of moſt ridiculous nature. [66]The ſcalp of his ſkull was totally bald, ſo that he was, as it were, all face from his chin forward, to the nape of his neck backward; and yet he affected to deſpiſe a wig. But what made this the more prepoſterous, was the groteſque ſhape of his ſcull, which, tapering away pyramidically from the ear, formed at the top a complete cone, not very unlike one of thoſe cheeſes, known by the name of the Stilton cheeſe. Under an im⯑menſe depth of ſocket, lay encaverned our philoſopher's eyes, overhung by ſuch a profuſion of brow, that Nature ſeemed to have made a ſmall miſtake, in ſuffering the hair to cover the face, inſtead of the head; for, had it been her divine pleaſure to thin the eye-brow, in order to accommodate [67]the pate, both might have been be⯑comingly furniſhed: but, certainly her Ladyſhip was in her merrieſt mood, at the birth of this her ludi⯑crous Lemuel: for beſides theſe ſin⯑gularities, the naſal organ obtruded upon the oral; a pair of raw-looking lips, always on the gape, and twiſted awry, exhibited a pair of jaws that, had not the chin by curling upwards, modeſty aimed at concealing the abyſs, it might not be ſafe for women in certain ſituations, to look upon them.

Such was the appearance which was now ſtalking into the ſtreet; and let me hope pardon for the decent pride of human nature, if I fairly con⯑feſs I was ſomewhat aſhamed of my companion; for, what was concealed, [68]or but "darkly viſible" in the attic ſtory, in which the man and the manſion were of a piece; now they came to be ſeparated, and our philo⯑ſopher ſet his face to the ſun, I began to fear the fate of king Richard would be again realized, and the very dogs bark as Mr. Lemuel "halted by them." Sober reaſons juſtified theſe ſuſpicions; for his habiliments, were of ſuch a cut and ſuch a colour; the thing that he wore by way of hat, ſo uncommonly abſurd; ſo thin his carcaſe, to which was ſubjoined ſuch an emaciated thigh, and ſuch longi⯑tude of leg, over which were drawn ſuch harlequin hoſe, that he was al⯑together a moveable wonder. Yet, feeling a mixt ſenſation of pity and ſurprize, as I ſaw him, like a dark [69]ſhadow, lengthen before me, I had the courage to keep within a yard of him in the public ſtreets of this laughter-loving London.

Curioſity, however, threw her eyes upon him in a moment, and we were attended by a great multitude. As I knew not the place where Lemuel was accuſtomed to enjoy his two-penny, he took the lead; and after turning through nameleſs dark paſſages, and dirty alleys, amid the hoot of boys, the giggle of girls, and the ſilent aſ⯑toniſhment of full-grown people; Lemuel, without ſeeming to regard the ſpectators that he had drawn around him, ſtopt at the door of a miſerable building, which diſplayed at once the ſlope of age, and bad architecture. From hence iſſued a [70]ſmoke that aſcended to the noſtrils, and Lemuel, telling me we were landed, ducked his head, to fix his foot upon the ſteps; and then, taking hold of my hand, we both ſunk, like a pair of theatrical goſts, into a cellar.

For ſome time, amazement had fixed her ſeal on my lips; and now, had my exiſtence depended on a ſyllable, it could not have been arti⯑culated. The fumigations of the place at my firſt entrance into this infernal ordinary, not only blinded my eyes, but took away my breath; and I was abſolutely inveloped in a miſt of meat. Lemuel, on the con⯑trary, to whom the fog was familiar, ſat collected in himſelf, and told me, with appetite in his very look, that we were in a land flowing with milk [71]and honey! even in the land of Canaan.

A flowing land, I'll be ſworn ſaid I, for we are up to the ancles in water. In broth, my dear lad you mean, ſaid the philoſopher: a man of my prin⯑ciples, a man with any ſort of mode⯑ration about him might live and proſper, upon what is here thrown away; we wade in marrow, and the richneſs of the bones, my beſt youth. We do indeed, replied I, and if we ſtay much longer here, ſhall I do verily believe wax exceeding fat; I am in a thriving way already Mr. Lemuel. Pſhaw, rejoined Lemuel, ſit thee down upon this form, and let us conſider, what dainty we ſhall ſix on: the worſt of it is, in theſe places one's appetite [72]is always diſtracted by ſuch delicious variety.

I ſat down, and as well as I was able, kept myſelf from bathing in the broth. And now, my ſight being in ſome degree reſtored, I had an op⯑portunity to ſurvey the cellar, and its inhabitants! Never, ſurely, did the human eye behold a more miſcel⯑laneous heap of dead and living ſub⯑jects: on one ſide were diſplayed the quarters of an ox, the limbs of a lamb, and the entrails of a pig; raw and roaſted, baked and boiled, ming⯑ling together. The cook in a greaſy night-cap, and his ſhirt ſtript and folded in a truſs to his elbow, was ſcorching at the fire. On the other ſide ſat a row of ſhabby cuſtomers in [73]ſilent expectation, and, to give a finiſh⯑ing to the whole, the window was blockaded by a parcel of poor crea⯑tures, who, unable to purchaſe the ſubſtance, were contenting themſelves with the ſhadow, and actually dining upon the effluvia that came ſteaming from the pots.

As I, by this time, had received a ſurfeit, Lemuel had looked himſelf into longing. I'm for a ſlice of that ham, ſaid he, my friend: ham is a promoter of two-penny. In compli⯑ment to Lemuel, I attempted to eat: this ham is too fat, ſaid I; theſe greens are too much like yellows, this bread is too ſtale. Od's peſti⯑lence, cried the philoſopher, take things as you find them: come, do as I do, man. Impoſſible, ſaid I. Then read this, [74]cried the philoſopher, taking a little dirty manuſcript out of his pocket, and preſenting it to me—read that, and I'll finiſh in a minute.

I opened the book, and read the title, which ran thus: "The Eſſence of Truth, or the Art of being Happy, at all Times, in all Places." Now for it, ſaid I, friend Lemuel: if thou canſt prove it poſſible, for a man to ſit ſtewing in a little, ſubterraneous cellar, and yet be cooly contented both in mind and body, thou art indeed a philoſopher. I do prove it, every day of my life, ſaid the philo⯑ſopher with the meat in his mouth: ſhut the book, and behold ocular demonſtration. Look at that lattice; all things are comparative. Theſe people would give their ears for the [75]ſat and greens, at which you toſs up your noſe, Doſt thou think ſo? replied I eagerly: I ſhall ſave ſome pieces upon my plate, as I always do; and then you ſhall ſee, rejoined Lemuel.

Here waiter, ſaid I, give each of thoſe women at the window, ſix⯑penny worth of what they like beſt. Sixpenny-worth! cried the philoſopher in a loud voice, laying down his knife and fork in aſtoniſhment: why man, there never was heard ſuch a ſpeech here, ſince the foundations of the houſe were laid; Lord, how little doſt thou know how to live: well may ſo extravagant a man be miſer⯑able; if the rich could conceive, how, many of the indigent, as they are falſely called, were ſubſiſted; they [76]would be taught, at the ſame time, more ſenſibility, and more oeconomy. As to this place, notwithſtanding the delicacies which ſurround you, a penny is competent, three-halfpence, is giving a little into indulgence; three pence is intemperate ſpending, and four-pence farthing is a down⯑right debauch.

Theſe obſervations excited in me the very firſt reflections on my own extravagance, and I was fully reſolved to be more oeconomical.

Soon after this, the philoſopher ſaid, he would regale with the luxu⯑ries of a pipe, aſſerting, that it an⯑ſwered two excellent purpoſes; firſt, by promoting meditation; and ſe⯑condly, by promoting digeſtion. I told him I was ſummoned by a par⯑ticular [77]engagement, which would at preſent deprive me of his company. He took hold of my hand, and with great compoſure, bade me farewell. Reſerving only a ſhilling, which I was wiſe enough to keep for acci⯑dents, I begged his acceptance of the remainder, leaving the fate of the poor people at the lattice, to his diſ⯑cretion; then, promiſing to repeat my viſit, I took leave of this truly practi⯑cal philoſopher, and after many en⯑quiries, got out of the lanes into a main ſtreet, where, luckily ſeeing a ſtand of coaches, I made uſe of one to convey me once more to the apart⯑ments of Lucy.

CHAP. CXXVII.

How much more real happineſs appeared to reſide in the cellar of the philoſopher, than in the lodgings of Lucy, at the time I arrived! the firſt object I met at the foot of the ſtairs, was Lucy's ſervant, arguing the point in ſeeming earneſtneſs, with a ſhabby man, who was leaning againſt the banniſters: the next groupe of figures were diſpoſed in the dining⯑room, in the following order; on the one hand was Lucy, who, upon per⯑ceiving me, burſt into a violent flood of tears; oppoſite to her was the very old woman, who yeſterday appeared as Lucy's friend; and at the other [79]end of the room, ſat my worthy, and well-recollected acquaintance, Mr. Dodge: without more preface, the caſe ſtood thus. Lucy had, as ſhe ſaid, previous to my connection with her, reſided at the houſe of this Mrs. Trickmaid, who, for board, lodging, and money lent, had run up a bill to the amount of 100 pounds, which ſhe was reſolved to have at a moment's warning; and, upon application, meeting an excuſe, had taken out a writ, and put it, for ſerving, into the truſty hands of Mr. Dodge. Lucy took me into the bed-room, and told me, ſhe could not bear the thoughts of my paying any more; and that, with my leave, as ſhe would not live in the debt of ſuch a baſe woman, ſhe would ſend her ear rings to be [80]pledged. I told her, it was a very unlucky affair, as I had lately drawn pretty deeply on Parſons; but that I thought it my duty to pay it, if ſhe knew it to be a reaſonable demand.

The old woman ſaid ſhe had ſworn to the debt; and Mr. Dodge hoped I would pardon him for ſerving his Majeſty. Without teazing the reader with the diſagreeable particulars of this affair, I ſhall juſt inform him that it ended, in my paying debt and coſt, with ſending a ſecond meſſenger to Mr. Archibald Parſons. When the parties were gone, and Lucy and I left alone, ſhe told me, the ſurprize and confuſion of that cruel woman's unexpected behaviour was too much for her; and ſhe begged permiſſion to lie down on the bed. Here, as I at⯑tended [81]her, ſhe ſaid, in a whiſper, that the very babe within her was diſturbed; and ſhe would not hurt the dear pledge for ten thouſand worlds. This affected me ſo much, I wept in the ſincerity of my tender⯑neſs, and quite forgot the expenſive circumſtance of the old woman and her hundred pounds.

After dinner, I talked with Lucy upon ſeveral ſubjects, on purpoſe to ſound the depth of her judgment and underſtanding; both which were ſo much beyond women in her ſad cir⯑cumſtances, that I was more and more convinced of her deſerving a ſacred ſituation. In the courſe of the afternoon, ſhe became very agreeable, and ſhewed a good heart, by wiſhing with a ſigh, that ſhe had [82]ſeen me, before ſhe had ever known guilt, but that (as it was) ſhe might die firſt. Why ſo, Lucy? ſaid I. Be⯑cauſe then, Benignus, ſhe replied, your child will not want a friend, and a protector in him, whom he will not be permitted to call father: one thing ſhe ſaid, ſat heavy upon her boſom, but if I would grant one requeſt, it would be infinitely relieved; it is only that you will allow me to turn all my trinkets into money, and place it in the Bank, for the uſe of our in⯑fant, leſt after you have left me, it ſhould be deſtitute; and after ſuch a meaſure, no wants or temptations could prevail with me to touch it: nay, I will, with your leave, by a deed of ſettlement, put it out of my own power.

[83]Hearts of marble, or adamant only could ſupport this; and in the glow of my feelings, I aſſured her, a de⯑cent competency ſhould very ſhortly be made, by way of annuity, upon the mother of the infant; not, ſaid I, Lucy, that I have any deſign to leave you, but becauſe you ſhould have a little comfortable dependence of your own, and be properly provided for, and ſet above the neceſſity of future improprieties, ſhould any thing hap⯑pen to me. Lucy ſaid, I was goodneſs itſelf, and intreated ſhe might with⯑draw to indulge the ſenſibility I had excited.

The happineſs I had communicated to another, radiated upon myſelf, and I walked out into the ſtreet, and from [84]thence into an adjoining ſquare, to ſoothe myſelf as uſual, by ſoliloquy.

Oh generoſity, what a ſource of joy art thou, to thyſelf and others! thou art the ſun of the ſoul; the clouds of diſtreſs flee from before thee, the ſtorms of miſery are diſperſed; and as thy impartial beam ſpreads comforts and bleſſings on every ſide, thou appeareſt only to ſhine the brighter, in proportion to the felicity that is thus benignly extended! con⯑tinue then, oh continue to illume my boſom: let this hand forget its em⯑ployment, and this heart ceaſe its mo⯑tion, when it ceaſes to feel thy ami⯑able energy!

A thinking man frequently walks faſt; my reflections ſo aſſiſted my [85]legs, that I found myſelf at the fartheſt end of a diſtant ſtreet, when coming out of a houſe, I beheld the figure of a man which immediately ſtruck me; and as he was going the oppoſite way, I walked along briſkly to overtake him.

CHAP. CXXVIII.

In the perſon of this man, I ſaw— whom doſt thou think, my good reader?—Even the grocer of Graſſing⯑ton, whom I no ſooner accoſted, than he recognized me, and ſpake thus. Ah—ha! my young hero, have I found you! you are a fine benevlent chap indeed, with a pax to ye; you kidnab people's children do you? [86] Gim me my daughter, damme, gim me my daughter: 'tis you have got her now I find, after ſhe was turned out of doors. This is your fine ſarch after happineſs, is it!

I ha' come all the way from Graſ⯑ſington ater you; your name's pretty well up there, I can tell you that, maſter Nignus the 'nevolent. Gimme my daughter I ſay, or I'll ſend you over the herring-pond, take my word for't.

The leaſt that I ſuppoſed was, that the poor Grocer's misfortunes, in the loſs of his wife and daughter, had turned the little wits he had, and that he was now, being in the middle of the moon, in the height of his de⯑lirium. I told him I knew nothing of his daughter, but believed I could [87]help him to his wife, if he wiſhed ſuch a circumſtance.

My wife!—what haſt got her too, haſt? Doſt keep um both then—eh? I'll have thee hung, drawn, and quar⯑tered: thee may'ſt talk of thy nevo⯑lence, and ſuch like, but I'll not budge from thee the length of my nail, till haſt given me my daughter: as to Martha, ſhe may ſtay where ſhe is, I have almoſt loſt all my ſubſtance for want of a woman to look ſharp to ſhop, and ſo it can't be much worſe with me; but thee ſhalt pay for all, maſter Nignus, I promiſe thee.

By this time a mob collected; it was in vain I proteſted I knew no⯑thing of his daughter: though I owned I had rendered ſome little ſer⯑vices to his poor deſtitute wife. He [88]ſwore he would fetch a warrant and ſarch my houſe, and ſend both me, and his b—h of a daughter to Newgate before night: adding, that he was ſure the wench was now in my houſe, and ſo, ſays he, thee hadſt better gee her up at once, for I tell thee again, and again, you nevolent ſon of a w— I'll not leave thee.

As nothing would ſatisfy him but a conviction that I was really inno⯑cent of the crime imputed to me, I e'en agreed to take him with me, firſt to Lucy's, then to Draper's; and indeed I now began to conſider the charge of too important a nature, both to my character, and the Grocer's peace of mind, not to clear myſelf. I ſuffered the Grocer therefore, to waddle by the ſide of me, till I got [89]to the door of my miſtreſs, which, being accidentally left open, the grocer ruſhed in, and I after him. Lucy's maid ſeeing us, ran as faſt as poſſible up ſtairs, without ſpeaking, to acquaint her miſtreſs (as I then ſup⯑poſed) that a ſtranger was coming. Mr. Brawn, now in a violent perſpi⯑ration, mounted the ſtairs, and with⯑out knocking, broke open the door that the maid had juſt ſhut after her; which he had ſo ſooner done, than he roared out, in a voice inconceiv⯑ably dreadfull. Did not I tell thee ſo —eh? Did not I tell thee thou hadſt got her? What do you ſay to this Mr. Nignus, the nevolent? And what do you ſay to it you fine dizend-out huſſey—eh? With your ſilks, and [90]tricks, and your trinkumbobs, and ſuch like—eh?

The vehement ſcream of Lucy, the confuſion of the maid, and the lan⯑guage of Brawn, ſoon convinced me, that I had really been all this time connected with the Grocer's de⯑bauched daughter; and yet the whole matter appeared to me ſo like a dream, that I was as little able to anſwer, as to account for it. All that I was able to ſay, was to aſk what all this meant? What is it, replied the Grocer, why that you've made a w—of my daughter, or at leaſt you have harboured her, and that's enough for me. Nay, I can bring witneſs, that thee ſaidſt thee hadſt my wife, and I don't doubt but thou [91]haſt made a w—of ſhe—mayhap, ſhe's in next room. I'm 'ſolved to ſee howſomdever.

Here he made an effort to open the door of the bed-room, but was op⯑poſed both by Lucy and the maid, each proteſting nobody was there: but, as Brawn continued to perſiſt in his reſolutions to ſearch the whole apartment, I went myſelf to ſecond him; and we met the moſt obſtinate reſiſtance from the women. A letter in the ſcuffle, dropt out of Lucy's pocket, which, to prevent farther miſ⯑chief, imagining it to be one of mine, I took up; and the Grocer at laſt gained his point, at the ſame time gave Lucy a thruſt with his hand againſt the wainſcoat, that brought her upon the carpet in a ſwoon.

[92]Brawn now ran raving up and down the room, toſſed about the bed cloths, ſhook the curtains, examined the cloſets, and was coming diſap⯑pointed into the dining-room, when he bethought himſelf to look under the bed, where, lo! after ſtooping down to the taſk with great difficulty, he ſaw, and pulled out by the left leg a ſomething very like a man, that had upon its back a very glittering coat, and upon its belly, a ſtill more glittering waiſtcoat. Who art thee, eh? ſaid the Grocer, turning him over; another nevolent chap I 'ſpoſe.

Upon this, the figure aroſe, and convinced the whole company he was alive, though infinitely drunk. He ſwore, as well as he was able to make out the matter, that that Lady was [93]his property, that he would not de— de—liver her to the Crim of Tar—tar, nor the Z—aar of Muſcovy, and that as he had already killed one man upon her account, he would kill two more, if—if they did not inſtantly quit the prem—i—ſes.

This heroic reſolution was very near producing a battle, for our ſtag⯑gering young gentlemen drew his ſword, which was really ſtained with blood, and waved it at the breaſt, firſt of the Grocer and then me, while the Grocer flew to the fire place, and ſeized the poker. It was no time for dallying, and I was, at the riſque of my life, reſolved to quiet this ſpark; accordingly I ſtole behind the chair, where he had by this time ſeated him⯑ſelf, got the ſword from his graſp, [94]and drawing him on the floor, ex⯑amined his pockets for that informa⯑tion, which he was himſelf, unable to give me verbally. Not a trace how⯑ever, remained to lead me: not a ſingle clue to this enigma, and all that either threats, or perſuaſions could extort from either Lucy or her maid, were, that he was a drunken rake, who, ſeeing the door open, had forced himſelf up ſtairs, and could not be perſuaded to go away, till hearing us coming, the miſtreſs had prevailed upon him to go through the bed⯑room down ſtairs, as ſoon as we were in the dining room.

Very true, as you ſay, fair Lady— very true.—I am but a dr—drun— drunken rake as you obſerve; cried the man, and ſo—gem—gentel—le⯑men [95]your humble ſervant, I—I—I'm —o—only a rake.

He got up, and reeling to the ſtairs, fallied into the ſtreet. The miſtery increaſed; the puzzle was more in⯑tricate than ever. One thing howſom⯑dever is plain, ſaid Brawn; this here is my daughter, my property, and I ſeize her in the king's name. I'll have her home if its only to vex her; and as for thee maſter Nignus, I'll take care of thee, as ſoon as I can talk to layer I promiſe thee. So come along miſs.

He was proceeding to lay violent hands on her, when the landlady of the houſe came up with a letter, which, ſhe ſaid, was to be given into no hand but Mrs. Lucy Brawn's; I told the woman that brought it, [96]ma'am, there was no ſuch perſon here, as you go by the name of Silborn. Silborn be d—d, ſaid the Grocer; what doſt talk of Silborn? She was born and chriſtened Brawn, and ſhe is every inch a Brawn, and my brawn, I'll ſwear to her; ſo gee the letter to me, or elſe I'll ſend ye to the herring-pond, for I'm her lawful father, and ſuch like.

The landlady delivered the letter, and very prudently retired; while my grief, indignation, and amazement, increaſed ſo faſt upon me, that I was almoſt diſtracted. Brawn, having opened the letter, ſwore it was writ⯑ten with ſuch a d—d up and down fiſt, he could not cypher it, and threw it to me: but it ſignifies nothing talk⯑ing, I'll have laa, and my daughter; ſo ſaying, he caught Lucy by the arm, [97]and ſhe, falling upon her knees, aſked pardon, and ſaid, if he would be leſs violent, and come to-morrow, ſhe would tell every thing, and do every thing he would have her.

I did love thee once, Lucy—knowſt I did—would have given the beſt at the Sugar-loaf to make thee happy: but now you are gone, and Martha is gone, and my ſubſtance is at rack and ruin, I don't know what to do, what to ſay, nor whither to betake me: why poor Bob Blewit is better off than I am now; lawyer Limbo's come back as rich as a Jew, and Bob's going to have all his fortin again, and they ſay will be richeſt man in county; but I, I luckee have nothing to hope now. Why ſhould I get money? I love nobody. I can't find [98]my wife; I'm aſhamed of my daughter; and I an't ſo fat as I was by ſeveral ſtone; I am half melted with fretting.

The poor Grocer began to weep, and his whole ſpeech, together with the intelligence concerning Mr. Blewit, (who, by the by, returned my laſt preſent, with a grateful letter, in which he told me, his preſent circumſtances did not require aſſiſtance) all wrought upon me but too powerfully; and I did every thing my ſenſibility ſug⯑geſted, on ſo trying an occaſion, to eaſe the heart of this offended and afflicted father. I told him every cir⯑cumſtance that related to his wife, at whoſe ſituation he forgot his uſual ferocity, and cried like the child of nature, that gives way only to natural [99]impreſſions. I promiſed to bring about an interview. I aſſured him that, with reſpect to his daughter, I had protected her for ſome time, from worſe conditions; and that, while I lived, ſhe ſhould never want a friend; nay, I even went ſo far, as to promiſe him, if I did not make her my wife, I would never ſee her again in an im⯑proper way, though I would ſuf⯑ficiently provide for her. The no⯑tion of making her my wife had won⯑derful weight with the Grocer, who took me by the hand, and ſaid; you did not ruin ſhe, I know that, and ſo can the eaſier forgive: but I am now ſo much the talk of Graſſington, and the Sugar-loaf is ſo loanſome, that I can't ſmoke, nor I can't go about, nor I can't buſtle, nor I can't [100]do nothing; for what, after all, is a man's gettings, if he has neither wife nor daughter to ſhare them? Theſe remarks ended with his kiſſing Lucy, and telling me, that the whole matter of my having his daughter, was diſ⯑covered by one I little thought on, but that he would tell me all to-mor⯑row, and deſired I would get Martha to ſee him, and that we might all have a meeting at the ſame houſe in the morning. Upon my promiſing this, he inſiſted on Lucy's going with him to the inn where he ſet up, and ſaid, ſhe ſhould come with him again in the morning. The poor girl dared not refuſe (ſuch was her aſtoniſhment) and I had not the courage to op⯑poſe it; ſo off ſhe walked, in an agony of half-ſtifled diſtreſs, with the Grocer.

[101]They were no ſooner gone, than I maſtered my amazement ſufficiently, to recollect the letters, and read them with the aſtoniſhment they com⯑manded. That, which had dropt from Lucy's pocket begins the next chapter.

CHAP. CXXIX.

[104] The next letter was addreſſed to the ſame lady, and preſented me with the following agreeable intelligence.

[107] Not to trouble the reader with my reflections upon the peruſal, of theſe truly original epiſtles, I ſhall only ſay that I found myſelf as complete a bubble as ever fell into the hands of a woman; I found that, beſides all this, Mrs. Trickmaid was a procureſs; Lucy her pupil, and the fellow whom the Grocer had drawn from under the bed, was her favourite: that, he had ſuffered his own child to be murdered by drugs (uſed by unhappy wretches on ſuch occaſions) leſt her ſhape ſhould not be ſufficiently attracting, to delude fools and ſimpletons like Benignus. I found alſo, that there was no truth in either the affair of the infant, for whoſe imaginary creation I had undergone ſo many paternal pangs; nor in the hundred pounds [108]debt ſuppoſed to be due to the dia⯑bolical Mrs. Trickmaid; and I did not doubt but the jewels, the neck⯑lace, and every thing elſe, were con⯑ducted upon the ſame ingenious prin⯑ciple.

Rage and anger prevailed, and I threw myſelf, in the ſevereſt ſelf⯑condemnation upon the bed, curſing the ſimplicity that had miſled, and made me a dupe to ſeduction in every form, in every ſhape, in every ſex. But, recollecting the revenge denounced againſt my dear Mr. Dra⯑per, I roſe up, in an agony of appre⯑henſion, and (though I ſaw Lucy's maid, tying up a bundle, with her hat and cloak on, and in a violent hurry—all which denoted guilt) I took my hat without ſpeaking to her, [109]hung on my ſword (without hardly knowing about what I was employed) and ran to his houſe.

CHAP. CXXX.

Here, oh my good reader, I had no ſooner arrived, than I ſaw every thing in the utmoſt confuſion, and ſuch an unexpected aſſemblage of people, as cut me to the ſoul.

The very firſt object was Benja⯑min, who came reſolved if poſſible to ſee me, becauſe Nancy Dennis's couſin, had told him ſomething which frighted him almoſt to death. Nancy Dennis's couſin, ſir, ſaid he, was ſome time ago, in place at a mantua-maker's, one Mrs. Trickmaid's, but left her houſe be⯑cauſe [110]of ſome bad doings going on; and ſhe came with tears in her eyes, ſir, to me and Nancy (to whom I was yeſterday married, ſir, by my uncle's conſent) and ſhe related ſuch things to us—good Lord, ſir, I have not the face to tell you what ſhe ſaid, about you, and her, and the Grocer's daughter. Nancy's couſin, ſir, wrote a letter of the whole affair to the poor Grocer her father, and I am afraid, ſir, ſhe mentioned you in it; I am afraid ſhe did; but indeed I knew nothing about it; more did Nancy, as I have a ſoul to be ſaved, ſir: but, continued Benjamin, its no time to talk now—poor Mr. Draper is—is— is—dead, ſir—poor Mr. Draper is dead.

Draper, dead!—ſaid —

[111]The ſervants, who remained hi⯑therto dumb, now delivered me a letter from an unknown hand, and another incloſed therein,

CHAP. CXXXI.

Scarce had I read this letter, before the dead body of Draper came to the door, attended by the ſurgeon, and another friend, who was preſent at the engagement. Words would wrong what paſt within my mind at this ſight; and poor Benjamin was [116]only inferior to me in miſery, for⯑getting quite his joys with the new⯑married Nancy, the woman of his heart.

Three days did I hunt with a vigi⯑lance ſcarce to be equalled, after the murderer of my friend. Three days did I ſearch every corner of the metropolis, for the abandoned L. L. who was palpably the wretch! and that very blood I ſaw, was the blood of Draper, of Draper who fought and fell to vindicate the moſt extravagant Benignus! I could not find him, I could not find the perpetrator of a deed that ſhould have been paid for with his life or with mine.

On the fourth day it became ne⯑ceſſary to give the remains of this noble youth to the duſt, and on that [117]evening were put into the grave the remains of the fineſt, trueſt, and moſt accompliſhed man in England.

He was buried in the tomb with his anceſtors, and when every attend⯑ant was gone, and all the people that flock round a pompous funeral were diſperſed, I bribed the ſexton and the clerk to give me the key of the church, where I paſt the whole night upon the cold tomb of my poor Draper, and I half execrated the morning that tore me from him.

The next day elapſed before I had a thought to beſtow on Lucy; yet let me not, ſaid I, repay evil with evil: ſince I cannot find the villain that ſeduced her, and murdered Dra⯑per, let me not, like a vindictive ſpi⯑rit, add to the miſery even of the [118]guilty! theſe reflections gave me cou⯑rage to addreſs the father in the fol⯑lowing manner.

This produced the following re⯑ply, which, being perfectly character⯑iſtic [119]of the Grocer, would at any other hour than the preſent, have produced a ſmile.

Thus ended my intercourſe, and in this manner was diſſolved my con⯑nection with the perfidious Lucy, and her father; the wife was, I under⯑ſtood ſoon after, reſtored to the arms of her greaſy lord, who ſet off with his family (after miſrepreſenting me to [121]all his friends) for Graſſington; where, however, their return was neither happy nor harmonious; for the miſ⯑fortunes of the wife, the daughter, and the huſband were everlaſting fources of domeſtic reproach: while I was reprobated as the curſed cauſe of all the miſchief; and the name and conduct of the blundering Benig⯑nus! ignominiouſly circulated round the country, even till the ſcandal thereof reached my native village. The idea of theſe calamities, with the death of Draper, and the diſ⯑pleaſure of Mrs. Darlington, drove me to the very verge of deſpair.

CHAP. CXXXII.

In ſome degree to bury, if poſſible, the anguiſh of my ſoul in the whirl of worldly recreation, I yielded to intreaties, and (being aſhamed to meet the eye of Mrs. Darlington) paid a viſit to Mr. Blake, who began to adminiſter the old, ineffec⯑tual cordials—ſuch as, "we were all mortal; that we were here to-day, and gone to-morrow; that it was fooliſh to grieve for what could not be helped—ſooner or later we muſt all follow Mr. Draper, and that if I was to fret myſelf to death, what was done could not be undone."

[123]But all theſe ſtale common-place maxims had no other effect upon me, than to make me deſpiſe the vulgarity by which they were dictated, and yet in the ſociety of this man, and his fair houſe keeper, I ſometimes found a refuge, rather than give myſelf wholly up to the embraces of ſolitude and ſorrow. I made it however, a ſolemn cuſtom (well ſuited to the preſent gloomy habits of my life) to pay a nocturnal viſit once in the week, to the tomb of the admirable Draper; or rather to the church⯑yard, near to which the remains of this beloved companion were inurned. —I was one night offering my devo⯑tions to the ſhade of my friend, and walking penſively near to the porch of the church, "day being at odds [124]with morning," when I beheld two men, coming with ſtealing ſteps into the church-yard; and, after ſome little ceremony, they ſat themſelves down by the ſide of a grave.

Alas! ſaid I, poor creatures! they are doubtleſs upon an errand no leſs melancholy than mine. They are upon a viſit to the new-made grave of ſome dear departed friend. Per⯑haps, two affectionate brothers, are mourning over the aſhes of a father— perhaps their tributary tears are de⯑voted to a friend in the duſt—perhaps a wife—a mother—or a ſiſter, much loved, and much lamented, is croud⯑ed into the narrow manſion of mor⯑tality; or perhaps—

I was interrupted in the progreſs of theſe reflections, by perceiving [125]one of the men digging up the earth, as if with a ſpade, while the other ſtill remained ſitting as before. This excited my curioſity, and, under favour of a very cloudy atmoſphere, I went ſoftly along the yard, till I came near enough to obſerve the event of their buſineſs, and yet, by the ſhelter of an oppoſite tomb that was raiſed of ſtone in the center, I eſcaped any danger of their obſerva⯑tion. Such a converſation ſoon paſſed between theſe two men, as may very well be diſbelieved by thoſe who are happily ignorant of the arts of this wonderful metropolis; or who are not intimately converſant with the great truth that is couched in the trite ſaying—one half of the people [126]of London, do not know how the other half live.

I was a witneſs, my worthy reader, to the following dialogue.

What do you mean by that? I'll take no ſuch money, and ſo you may tell doctor Gaſhman. I never buried a finer body in my life—beſides he died of a ſomething that none of the faculty could make any thing of. D—n it, Mr. Nabfleſh, you don't know what you are talking about. This man's inwards are worth a Jew's eye—I'll not ſell him for leſs to my father. So avaſt digging.

Looke, Mr. Sexton, you are too hard upon my maſter—he's a good [127]cuſtomer, and you ought to conſider a little—is he not always ſure? Don't he pay for every carcaſe upon the nail? Did he not take off your hands, (or rather your ground) the author there who died in Grub-ſtreet, becauſe he would never move out of his room, and ſo got a hurt in his ſedantaries? Did he not purchaſe the body of the man (for whom the intereſt of his friends procured Chriſtian burial) who was hanged laſt Monday fortnight. And, if I had a mind, I could tell you a ſecret that would ſtop your avaricious mouth at once.

What's that, Mr. Nabfleſh?

Why the doctor is at this time attending a lady of your pariſh, who [128]is troubled with a complication as they call it, and as ſhe will be buried in that very church, and is certainly upon the move, you will be well paid for her; and ſhe is expected to be as fine a reſurrection as ever the doctor handled: he thinks ſhe can't hold it out more than a week or ten days longer, and then—

Say no more, Mr. Nabfleſh—dig away, and he's your man. I have thrown the mold over him as ligntly as poſſible, and ſo you'll ſoon get at him. It's a fine night for the purpoſe of raiſing our dead, and we ſhall have done preſently.

Upon this the purchaſer of inſulted humanity proceeded, and ſet his ſpade into the earth with an air of deter⯑mination. [129]While he was thus em⯑ployed, the worthy ſexton, whom, by his voice, I diſcovered to be the very man that ſold to me the key of the church, on the night of Mr. Draper's interment, amuſed his co⯑partner with the characteriſtic remarks which follow.

I'm a thinking Mr. Nabfleſh, what a friend I have been to the faculty in the courſe of my fextonſhip, and how much the diſſectors, and anato⯑miſers are obliged to me; for this is, you muſt know—this very ſpot is the moſt populous, and beſt inhabit⯑ed church-yard in chriſtendom. 'Tis amazing to think what a number of ſouls (bodies I ſhould ſay) come through my hands every week, and as I am [130]very intimate with the pariſh apothe⯑cary, and make it moreover my bu⯑ſineſs to know a little how folks go off, I can tell which commodity to re⯑commend to my friends; for there are a ſet of fellows who are not worth a reſurrection, and therefore God reſt 'em and rot 'em for us. Thoſe who die, as it were, a natural, vulgar death, in a feather-bed, are not worth a ſingle ſixpence, except indeed they die of a contagious diſtemper, and ſo bury in lead, and that you know turns to account. As to your wooden tene⯑ments, they put now-a-days ſo little timber in 'em, and build them ſo ſlightly, that they won't make a kettle boil; and ſcarce pay for the trouble of turning the body out of them. 'Tis your unaccountable deaths [131]that make us live, maſter Nabfleſh: and between you and I, and the man we are raiſing, I have a ſhrewd gueſs our old rector will make a ſubject by and by. I don't know what the plague ails him, but he's certainly upon the go, and I have ſome reaſon to think Dr. Gaſhman has an eye upon him. All in good time how⯑ever; I have nothing to do with a man while he is upon the face of the earth; nor do I ever conſider him as my property till I have got him under-ground.

By this time the dealer in the dead had pretty nearly finiſhed his work, and told the ſexton that he felt his pick-axe ſtrike againſt the nails of the coffin. I've knocked at the door maſter ſexton, ſaid he, and I fancy [132]we may make ourſelves pretty certain of finding the gentleman at home: I warrant ye now, he little expects to riſe again ſo ſoon! though, to ſay the truth, we do come to make him take the air at an unſeaſonable hour. After all, Mr. Earthworm, what truly great men we are! We are, in the fulleſt manner, your workers of mira⯑cles: we cauſe the dead to riſe, and with the aſſiſtance of our pharmaco⯑pelic friends, bid them live as it were again, and be in good ſpirits: yea, verily, we command this mortal to quit its corruptible fleſh, and be hung forth in all the immortality of bone. O maſter Earthworm we are very ſer⯑viceable members of ſociety indeed.

A ſecond pauſe was made in this curious dialogue, by the actual re⯑ſurrection [133]of the coffin, which theſe gentlemen with peculiar dexterity ſet upright; and one proceeded to open the lid, while the other ſpread upon the ground a ſort of coarſe ſheet, in order, as I preſumed, to receive and wrap up the body. Senſibility de manded her ſoliloquy upon this oc⯑caſion.

Oh moſt horrible barbarians! ſaid I gently, not yet diſcovering myſelf— Ah ſacrilegious aſſaſſins — what are not our very aſhes ſecure from this venal world—muſt our very bodies be ſold after they are fixed many feet deep in the earth?—How often then doth the afflicted ſurviver ſhed his tear upon the ſpot which he vainly ſuppoſes is conſecrated by the ſacred duſt of a friend, when, haply, the corpſe of that very friend hath been [134]clandeſtinely mangled by the inſect⯑ing knife, and the beloved anatomy all the while decorating the dreadful repoſitory—or rather charnel-room of the ſurgeon!—is this practice ne⯑ceſſary to the experiments of a uſeful ſcience? Do the lives and healths of the ſurviving world depend in any degree upon it? It may be ſo—but what a pang to a feeling heart is it, that thoſe who are employed in this formidable buſineſs ſhould be ſo deſti⯑tute of—

I was inclined to check the purſuit of theſe reflections for the preſent, by the appearance of a third man on horſeback, who came to the ſide of the church-wall, and gave the ſignal of a whiſtle to the other two. This fellow was, I apprehend, to carry off the corpſe, which, to my utter aſtoniſh⯑ment, [135]they had now diſlodged from its peaceful apartment, and were going to bear it without any noiſe, to the horſeman. At this awful criſis of the tranſaction the moon, which had been all the preceding part of the night obſcured by the heavineſs of the atmoſphere, now broke forth glimmeringly, and diſplayed the figure of the dead man, and his robbers, to my eye. I ſaw the pallid countenance, the livid lips, the cloſed eye, and the ſunk cheek, enfolded by the ſhroud —I ſaw the lifeleſs limbs, paſſive and obedient to the deſigns of the plun⯑derer.—

Z—ds! cries the ſexton, I feel ſomething hard hanging at his breaſt here—what the devil can it be.

After a minutes ſearch the ſexton went on: by heavens! maſter Nabfleſh, [136]its one of your little breaſt pictures, and looke—'tis tied by a ribband round his neck—you muſt know he was a devil for the wenches, and I'll lay my life this is the picture of one of his miſtreſſes. It ſhines a bit I think, and may be valuable: how⯑ever, good, or good for nothing, it has no buſineſs here, and being found upon my dead, it is, by the ſexton laws ſettled, ever ſince men took it into their heads to die, my property. I can't pretend, maſter Earthworm, replied the other fellow, to deny your perquiſite—every man of honour ought to have his dues, and ſo I wiſh you joy: but, what a whim⯑ſical dog thou muſt be (here he ſtruck the corpſe ludicrouſly upon the face) to have ſuch a pretty thing buried [137]with thee—a picture—eh? D—n me, I thank ye for that, maſter Dead man, —aye, thee wert a wag I warrant thee.

Here he ſhook him by the chin, and the ſexton was juſt going to tug at his perquiſite. The third man again whiſtled.

Every atom of my ſoul and body was offended, and knowing the nature of guilt, I threw aſide my coat and waiſtcoat, and folded a white pocket handerchief over my head, in con⯑formity to the vulgar idea of ghoſts, and ſtalked away towards the grave⯑robbers. They ſaw—dropt their ſpoil, and ran very rapidly away.

My deſign ſucceeded, and I ſet my⯑ſelf ſoberly to work, in order to re⯑bury the inſulted dead; reſolving, [138]nevertheleſs, to have ample juſtice inflicted upon the mercenary ſexton in due ſeaſon.

Mean time the day-light broke upon my efforts, and yet I was re⯑ſolved to finiſh my pious undertaking. I had depoſited the corpſe (from which, however, I found the picture was ſtolen) in its ſolemn habitation, put it as decently as I could in the ground, and was proceeding to cloſe up the grave with the mould, when two ^* watchmen returning from their [139]ſtands, dizzy as they were with their "potations pottle deep," diſcovered me.

Verſed as theſe worthy gentlemen are in all the ways, and wickedneſs of the town, they concluded, that I had outſtayed my time, and was, notwith⯑ſtanding, afraid to leave the grave I had pillaged, in diſorder. Eyeing me therefore as lawful game, they ſoon ſurrounded, and in the king's name, (while they ſhook their lantherns, and ſtruck the ground with their ſtaves) took me priſoner, and without a ſingle ſlice of ceremony, bore me [140]off in triumph to a place of ſecurity, commonly called a round-houſe.

CHAP. CXXXIII.

It was to no manner of purpoſe I aſſerted the piety of my buſineſs, ſince my conquerors proteſted that they caught me in the fact, and would make their affidavy of it before the juſtice: I entered therefore this midnight manſion as a criminal, and was repreſented to the company therein aſſembled, as a diſturber of the dead, and a fellow who lives by ſelling human fleſh to the ſurgeons: this introduction inſured me a very unfavourable reception, and every one threw at me either a ſarcaſm, or a ſatirical ſentiment.

[141]A more filthy habitation, or more extraordinary inhabitants never came within my notice. Such an infernal groupe was ſurely never before crouded into ſuch a contracted ſpace. Yet there was a blazing fire, and a general appearance of merriment. Into this little round room were huddled upwards of a dozen perſons of both ſexes, beſides myſelf, and the two watchmen who brought me.

I was now committed in form to the conſtable, who was the preſi⯑dent of the place, and he deſired I would content myſelf till I could be taken to the juſtice, and from him to Bridewell. Bridewell! ſaid one of the company—probably a perſon who loved wit—what do you mean by that, Mr. Conſtable? If the gentleman [142]has any luck he will be hanged, or tranſported at leaſt, for is he not a houſe-breaker? Is not a coffin a man's caſtellum? And is it not felony to break it open, I ſay? Anſwer me pri⯑ſoner, would not you have ſtolen out the furniture, if you could have got at it?—Come, come, I know a turn or two of the law—confeſs, therefore, would you not have done very ſe⯑rious and grave matters, if you had not been detected in your underhand buſineſs?—Every man's houſe, friend, whether of wood or of ſtone, of ſtraw or of tile, above ground, or beneath it, is private property; and private property is ſacred, and what's ſacred ſhould not be meddled with; and if it is, 'tis felony; and felony makes a rogue, and a rogue deſerves preferment [143]—this proves, logicè, that you are in the ſuds; which is, Anglicè, being in⯑terpreted, that you will be hanged, and ſo—tip us your manus—here's to your elevation, which is, being inter⯑preted, ſucceſs to a broken neck.

The wit had no ſooner finiſhed, than a ſecond gentleman, in a tarn⯑iſhed tinſel-bound waiſtcoat, a dirty ſhirt, and a laced hat, thought proper to make ſome ſmart obſervations in my defence. Amongſt other bright remarks, he ſaid, that with regard to Mr. Gooſequill's argument, he con⯑ceived it to be not only dull, but null: for that ſo far from a dead man being private property, he thought him no property upon earth, but property under the earth; ſo that, if any body had a right to puniſh for ſuch a theft, it was [144]his opinion that as the property proper⯑ly belonged only to the worms, the mat⯑ter ought to be ſubmitted to their worſhipful wormſhips; they being the only perſons robbed and defrauded. For his part, he ſaid, he was ſole manager of a country company of comedians, and if the gentleman could help him to a ſtock coffin, as his old one was quite ſhabby, and as he meant to open with the Funeral, he ſhould be greatly obliged to him.

This ſecond man of humour had ſomething ſo particularly groteſque about him, his eye was ſo vacant, and his countenance ſo comic, that he was, ſocially ſpeaking, the life of the company, and like a true ſon of the ſcenes, fairly ſet the round-houſe in a roar. What added to the plea⯑ſantry [145]of his character, was the pro⯑feſſional ſtrokes which he threw into his common converſation. A daſh of the drama mingled in all his diſ⯑courſe. Gentlemen and ladies, ſaid he, "in theſe deep ſolitudes, and midnight cells," 'tis fooliſh to be mi⯑ſerable. What though we be now "in durance vile?" "The ſoul ſecure in her exiſtence," ſmiles at the Juſtice, and defies his mittimus. For my own part, my fellow-ſufferers, "I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon," than this ſame conſtable. I am here my friends, for "a mere frolick," as my worthy Ranger ſays. "Tipſy, dance, and jollity," was the word, for two hours by the Covent Garden clock," and ſo being "hot with the Tuſcan grape, and high in blood," [146]haply I ſtole into a lady's chamber," and "in a dark corner of the room," I found—a female—"might I but kiſs —one kiſs—rubies out-paragoned, how dearly they'd do't, ſaid I—when the candle entered, by all my hopes gentlemen, I found her "neither old, nor ugly." Then ladies, "my blood beat high, and eager for the tranſ⯑port, with moving ſoftneſs then I ſtraight aſſailed her.

Although I uttered this, ladies and gentlemen, better than it was ever delivered by man before; yet, would you believe it, this obdurate fair, "threw me away like a deteſted ſin," [147]Nay more, "as at her feet I kneeled, and ſued for mercy, with a reproach⯑ful hand ſhe daſhed a blow;"—ſhe ſtruck me, gentlemen, by heaven ſhe ſtruck me, buffetted, ſlapt me on the face, kicked me on the breech, and called the watchman—for which, ſirs, —"if I forget her!" "but ſoft— methinks I ſcent the morning air"— "Brief let me be"—the watchman came, and brought me to the place where I have told this "round unvarniſhed tale."—Is it not "paſſing ſtrange?" "Is is not pitiful?"—Ha—who comes here—ſtop—who goes there at this late hour—Jaffier—oh 'tis a conſta⯑ble—he brings good tidings.

Here another conſtable introduced another priſoner, and the conſtable deſired we would clear the fire, for [148]that he knew he was a gentleman of conſequence, and had got money in his pocket—he comes here only to amuſe himſelf till the morning, and in order, as a body may ſay, to go for to ſee life. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, ſaid this lover of ſeeing life, Mr. Conſtable tells you true, I am a fellow of an odd humour, and take a plea⯑ſure in walking and waking, when moſt other people are aſleep. I love to ſee as much of this world as poſ⯑ſible—becauſe as to the next, we muſt take that upon truſt you know.

Very true ſir, replied the player— "there's the rub."

[149]This ſir, as you very juſtly ſay,

The young lawyer put in a re⯑joinder—as to that gentlemen, ſaid he, I am entirely of your opinion, for we proficients of the long robe, do not approve of demurrs, except in certain caſes made and provided. For my part I don't approve of giving long credit, and I had rather have cham⯑bers in Lincoln's Inn rent-free, than take any of my father's manſions which are in Heaven, upon truſt.

In other words, and to ſpeak by a bolder figure, ſir, ſaid the comedian, you had rather "reign in Hell, than ſerve in Heaven:" I agree with you, [150]"for who would fardels bear," but that—D—m your fardels, replies the lawyer, let us all club our ſhillings, and treat the ladies to a bowl of punch, for we are here for a piece of diverſion, a mere frolick, and ſo let us be as merry as we can. This propoſal was readily accepted, and a collection was made by the lawyer, who afterwards diſpatched the con⯑ſtable to neighbouring houſe which was open at all hours of the night.

The player was particularly pleaſed at this proſpect, and expreſſed his joy by a rhapſodical quotation, to do him juſtice, not very inapplicable, con⯑ſidering that there were ſeveral females in company.

[151]For my part, I love a freſh bottle, and a fair lady as well as any man in Eng⯑land.—Tell me of one bottle, or one bowl, or one woman; I ſay give me twenty—the more the merrier—my mighty love "hath ſtomach for them all." Old Cowley for that.

[152] Well ſaid, Mr. Player, cried the law⯑yer; thoſe are very pretty verſes; and prettily ſpoken too, I believe, replied the player — but here comes the punch.

Although I had no inclination either for liquor or laughter, yet, as I was under a neceſſity to ſtay till I could clear myſelf from the charge alledged againſt me, I ſat down upon an inverted tub, and made myſelf as contented as I could, under ſuch diſagreeable circumſtances.

The converſation ſhifted from love to politics, and from politics to religion —and now the gentleman who came merely for his amuſement, began to diſ⯑play himſelf. He was touched upon his darling topic, and obſerving a ſingu⯑larity in his ſentiments, I entered into [153]converſation. His replies to my ſeve⯑ral queſtions were ſo ſhrewd, and ſo very much beyond what I expected from the ſpeaker's appearance, that I told him the general outlines of my ſtory, not concealing even the preſent miſtake which brought me into his ſociety.

The company ſeemed very atten⯑tive, and the gentleman whom I par⯑ticularly addreſſed, ſmiled at the con⯑cluſion of my narrative, and with a liberty both of ſentiment and lan⯑guage peculiar to himſelf, made me the following circumſtantial reply.

"I thank you ſir, for your ſtory, although every part of it convinces me, that you have not, nor ever had, a ſingle ſentiment of your own. Well may you be miſerable—well may you [154]go about the world without either being wiſer or happier. One man tells you, you muſt do nothing but laugh; another you muſt do nothing but cry: one bids you take things as you find them; another ſays, you muſt learn to improve what you meet with. In the name of common ſenſe what are you doing? How can a young fellow of any ſpirit, ſubmit ſo vilely to perpetual leading ſtrings. I am aſhamed of you—what would you have me do, ſaid I?—I would have you, ſaid he, only to be con⯑ſiſtent with yourſelf, hunt not after eternal advice: uſe your own eyes, and your own underſtanding. Hear what others have to ſay, and look into what others have thought; but never truſt either books or men, im⯑plicitly—'tis [155]childiſh, 'tis cowardly. Weigh the whole in the ſcale of ſober reflection, and dare to differ from the higheſt human authority, if, after a fair boſom examination, it will not ſtand the teſt.

But perhaps ſir, my underſtanding is not equal to the ſevere inveſtiga⯑tions of original truths—perhaps— ſaid I—Nonſenſe, replied he, "the power of no property is known, till it is tried; the bird without effort would never be able to uſe its wing, nor does the ſoul know what a flight ſhe is able to ſoar, till ſhe magnani⯑mouſly puts forth her ſtrength in the endeavour. You do not ſo much want underſtanding, as you want for⯑titude. You are afraid to think— you are chained down by an old wo⯑womaniſh [156]veneration, to a ſet of ideas, tranſmitted from one ſilly lip to another ſilly lip; and to be ſure, what was thought right ſo long ago, and never thought to be otherwiſe than right ſince, muſt be all goſpel. Thus ſuperſtition in ſentiment becomes general, and it is almoſt ſacrilege to diſpute it—I would diſpute all the ſayings which were ever ſaid, if, on mature, deliberate, rational conſultation with my own reaſon, and natural feelings, I could not ſquare and reconcile them. If a man ſolemnly aſſures me ſtones are a ſofter ſubſtance than brown paper, or that fire is more a fluid than water; am I therefore to believe him?—that would be a flat contra⯑diction, ſaid I.—It may be ſo, he re⯑joined; but have you taken the pains [157]to conſider nicely the nature of this contradiction?—I dare ſay not. But let me tell you, equal contradictions are daily advanced by our ſageſt phi⯑loſophers—If I tell you ſtones are harder bodies than paper, you laugh; but when I aſſure you that all the children of this world were origi⯑nally deſigned to be happy, and that ſtealing a paltry apple created an univerſal curſe the moment it was ſwallowed, and that there has been the devil to play in the world ever ſince; you put on a ſolemn face, and exclaim againſt the curſed curioſity of a ſex, which is ſtill ſo incorrigible, that a forbidden apple would ſet, even at this moment, every daughter of Adam a longing. Yet in the name of truth, which is the moſt glaring ab⯑ſurdity?—Do [158]you diſpute the ſcrip⯑tures? Do you hold in diſbelief the ſacred leſſons of Human Faith?—A figs end for Faith, I ſtedfaſtly believe in that Sir, which I feel to be moſt conducive to my happineſs.

If a dream affords a man better and more pleaſant things than he can furniſh for himſelf with his eyes open, who would not rather ſleep than wake? If by taking a nap, the beggar can forget his rags and wants, and ſuppoſe himſelf a monarch, ſhould we not with juſtice call himſelf a ſim⯑pleton if he reſiſted the approaches of ſlumber? If fiction can produce an happier moment than faith, why I will truſt implicitly to fiction to be ſure.

[159]Would you ſir, ſaid I? Aye, would I, ſaid he, though it ſhould carry me away upon the wings of imagination, and ſhew me all the good old notions of my nurſery, the dogmas of my ſchoolmaſter, and the maturer maxims of my manhood, totally inverted— Good God! what can be your reaſon for this licentious ſingularity.—There it is again; ſingularity! the luckieſt thing that I ever heard you ſpeak of in your adventures, was your meeting with the man who aſſured you there was hardly any ſuch thing as ſingularity— there is not one man in a thouſand but would give himſelf the lye if he dare, and who does not privately diſ⯑believe the greateſt part of his pub⯑lic credenda? The mob ſurely, ſaid I.—Who ever mentions, ſaid he, the [160] mob—thoſe who have juſt capacity enough to add two to two, and are mathematically certain, that by unit⯑ing thoſe numbers, know they con⯑ſtitute an aggregate of four, would not eaſily believe you or me, if we averred that two and two made twenty million; and yet (mark the ab⯑ſurd manners of men) ſhould any perſon of great authority endeavour to prove that twenty million, and twice two, were exactly one and the ſame number, the multitude would affect to believe it religiouſly, and ſwallow down ſuch a prepoſterous contradic⯑tion. And when once an ignorant mind receives a notion, ſanctified as it imagines, by a ſcholard, i. e. a man who can read, and talk ſo very fine and unintelligible, that it does ones [161]heart good to hear him, then farewell to all future demonſtration. Fixt in its firſt prejudice it is in vain to at⯑tempt its converſion; and there is no abſurdity in the world too mighty or impalpable for it to adopt."

A very arch looking man, whoſe face was covered with the corner of his hat, (as ſoon as this libertine finiſhed) ſpake thus:

"Thou art maſter of much pleaſant argument, and I cannot but con⯑gratulate the young gentleman on ſo able a monitor. I have liſtened very attentively to thee, ever ſince I lighted my pipe, and am much edified:— Here he knocked out the aſhes; and then ſurveying the gentleman ſlyly, he continued, "neither have I more than a ſingle caveat to enter againſt [162]thy doctrine. And pray what may that be? replied the gentleman con⯑temptuoſly. So trifling an objection, rejoined the other, as that of being able to prove to a demonſtration, that you have not advanced one ſingle fact: that all you have ſaid is upon the ſuperficial ſurface, and that you are not equal to the ſolid center of a ſub⯑ject of ratiocination.—Oh, ho! cried the free ſpeaking gentleman, if I have driven you to the ſubterfuge of diſ⯑guiſing your ignorance under the plauſible maſk of a hard word, I give it up. When a man once begins to batter me with ſeven ſyllable words 'tis all over: Sir, I am infinitely obliged to you for the ſymptom of your ratiocination, and am your moſt obedient ſervant.

[163]Here both the diſputants exchanged ſneers, and were ſilent. The player inſiſted that religion was an improper ſubject to be diſcuſſed in a round-houſe, and that for his part, he was of the great Mr. Pope's opinion, whoſe genius indeed, ſaid he, has been thought by ſome of the beſt judges of the age, to be ſimilar to mine; and he obſerves,

As to a future ſtate—d—n me there's nothing ſo certain. I am ſo well convinced of it, gentlemen, that I am ſure of immortality both here and hereafter.

[164] You ſee, gentlemen, what a maſter I am of the ſubject. In that indeed, conſiſts the ſuperiority of our pro⯑feſſion. We are "the brief chroni⯑cles of the times," and I Frederick Fable (who am now a priſoner, for that I was too well ſkilled in the ſoft parts of ſpeech) am "like the knight of the ſhire," and, at different periods, "repreſent you all."

Here the door of our enchanted caſtle again turned upon its hinge, and uſhered into our ſociety, a figure which threw our comedian into an attitude, after being fixed in which, he exclaimed in a hollow voice.

[165] Here he ſhifted his poſture, raiſed the tone of his voice, and proceeded,

By this time, the perſon who was thus theatrically addreſſed appeared in full view, and in a great meaſure juſtified the ridicule of the player. It was another watchman, who came to inform us that it was paſt ſix o'clock, and that in a couple of hours his worſhip would be ready to hear and ſee us.

Prepare therefore, ladies and gen⯑tlemen, your ſeveral ſpeeches, charges, complaints, and defences; for you are to appear before one of the clevereſt juſtices in the city of London: you, [166]however, ſir, (continued the man, pointing to me) whom my brother watchman brought, are to be diſ⯑charged, becauſe they ſay, they be⯑lieve you to be innocent, and have heard your ſtory—but they hope your honour will leave with me a little money to drink your health. Upon looking round me, I now perceived the fellows were really gone, probably upon the preſumption of being found before the juſtice in a lame ſtory. However, be that as it may, I diſtri⯑buted ſome looſe ſilver amongſt the watchmen and conſtables that remained, and bowing to the company, departed from the round-houſe.

CHAP. CXXXIV.

When the watchmen diſcovered me in the church-yard, they carried me through various allies and by-ſtreets, for the ſpace of a mile or more to the round-houſe; ſo that, as I never was in that part of the town before, or at leaſt to my remembrance, it became neceſſary for me to aſk the way to Dover-ſtreet, eſpecially as the ſhops were yet ſcarce half opened, and the face of the proſpect thereby altered.

The air of ſimplicity is eaſily ſeen, and generally played upon.

Amongſt the inhabitants of every town and city, there are a ſet of peo⯑ple [168]who profeſs the ſcience of being funny. The mobility of London are remarkably addicted to this pleaſantry, which conſiſts, principally, in playing petty tricks that are productive of much hooting, laughing, howling, and vulgar merriment. For inſtance, if a ſtranger diſcovers any thing rural in dreſs, or is aukward in his queſ⯑tions, he is directly marked down as a proper object of fun; if a horſe falls in the ſtreet, and throws the rider from his back, ſo as to leave him in a ludicrous ſituation, but more particularly if he has the good fortune to pitch in a kennel, and thereby ſpoil his cloaths, it becomes a very funny acci⯑dent, to the lazy ſpectators: two pup⯑pies, either bipede or quadrupede, ſet⯑ting upon each other, till the blood [169]trickles into the ſhoes, and the eyes ſwell up to the part for which hats are uſually made, is thought ſo ir⯑reſiſtable a joke, that he muſt be a very dull fellow indeed, who refuſes to en⯑joy it.

There are other examples of this diverſion equally agreeable; ſuch as, running a burnt cork over a man's face as he lies aſleep; common, how⯑ever, as this ſmutty piece of buſineſs is, ſome readers might nevertheleſs be at a loſs to account for the fun of the thing, if they were not in⯑formed by me, (who am reſolved to be as ſerviceable to my fellow-creatures as ſolitude will let me:) Informed, I ſay, that the cream of this ſtroke of humour lies, in the man's waking with a black face, and ſinding the [170]company all upon the giggle, with⯑out knowing why—probably he after ſleeping, rubs his eyes—is then bid to look at his hands—this increaſes the wit exceedingly—they preſent him at length with a glaſs, in which he ſees what they have been about: this brings on the laſt burſt of joy, and ſo then—then—there ends the joke. Pinning a piece of brown paper to the tail of a coat, or gown, is alſo a jeſt founded upon the ſame inge⯑nious principle: none of theſe frolicks however, happened to me, yet did I not totally eſcape the lovers of fun. At the top of a ſtreet I begged the favour to be informed (in a tone that I am ſure might have changed ill⯑nature into civility) whether I was right for Dover-ſtreet?

[171]Now, although I was then near the Hay-market; yet this ill-tempered guide, inſtead of putting the wanderer into the right path, proteſted that he was ſorry he could not exactly inform me as to the matter I aſked, being a ſtranger to that end of the town, but that he knew I was near Tyburn turn⯑pike. Tyburn turnpike! ſaid I?—And which is the way then to Dover-ſtreet, ſir? Why you muſt go ſtraight down this ſtreet, (replied he, pointing his ſtick down the Hay-market) then aſk for Weſtminſter bridge, as ſoon as you have got to which, you muſt make a ſhort cut acroſs St. George's Fields, and—and—St. George's fields, ſir, ſaid I? Why that is the way to the Borough—ſurely you are miſtaken —Bam—ſaid the man, and ran away [172]laughing, into Piccadilly. It may juſt be noted here, by the way, that ſet⯑ting paſſengers into a wrong road, is ſuppoſed to be fun of the firſt conſe⯑quence. The next perſon that paſſed me, was alſo mighty merrily inclined, and upon my putting to him a ſimilar queſtion, and telling him my former uſage, I was briſkly anſwered in this manner.

Really that was barbarous, and un⯑gentleman like. I will put you right directly, ſir, with great pleaſure: there are a parcel of pert puppies about the ſtreets, that make the dif⯑ficulty of a ſtranger their ſport. Such fellows deſerve the application of a horſe-whip: here ſir, follow me, this is your way.

[173]I followed this plauſible ſpark (after bowing) in ſilence, fully perſuaded that he was an honeſt man. At the middle of a lane, or rather dark paſ⯑ſage, he took my hand, and conducting me to the gloomieſt end of it, thruſt his fiſt in my face, rifled my pocket, and ran off.

CHAP. CXXXV.

I arrived however, at laſt in Dover⯑ſtreet, at the now melancholy manſion of my dear Draper, where I received the following card from Blake, who became particularly ſollicitous of late for my company, chiefly, (as I then fondly imagined) for the ſocial pur⯑poſe of ſoothing the dejection that was ſettling upon my ſpirits.

As I found greater relief any where, than in the houſe which had ſo recently loſt its amiable proprietor, I accepted any random invitation that offered, rather than ſubject myſelf to the miſery of ſuch poignant con⯑templation; and, accordingly, I obeyed the ſummons. I called upon Blake at the proper time, and he ſaluted me thus.

[175]Chear up, my dear Benignus:—as the play ſays,

but endeavour to call pleaſanter images to your aid—imitate, in ſome degree, the vivacity, and even the vacancy of your friend Green, whom I ſhould have appointed to meet you, had he not changed his lodgings, and left us in the lurch,—but he is a citizen of the world, and ſo all changes and chances of this mortal life are alike to him; and we ſhall again hear from him, when the re⯑collection of the moment puts him in mind that there are ſuch perſons as you and I, exiſting.

[176]I will now take you in my hand to dine with a moſt extraordinary cha⯑racter, who lives at the edge of the Common; and in the evening I expect a couple of friends to play a rubber, ſo that upon our return, you ſhall, without any ceremony join us, and we will make a ſociable night of it— do not ſay a word, for I will have no excuſes, Benignus.—It is three o'clock —draw on your gloves, and let us be gone.

I was introduced in great form to dine with this remarkable perſon, whom we found filling a large elbow chair, and altogether unable to pay his firſt ſalutations to us in any other way, than by a gentle ſlope of the body, and even that ſeemed to coſt him no ſmall fatigue. It was on the [177]18th of July, and at twelve o'clock of a day, which was intenſely ſultry when we reached Mr. Pinguefont's houſe, which was as elegant and ſu⯑perb, as if it had been deſigned for the temple of voluptuouſneſs. In going along, Blake told me, that I muſt not be ſurpriſed at ſeveral cuſtoms, at Mr. Pinguefont's, however new or out of the way they might be: notwith⯑ſtanding which previous caution, and prepared as I was for ſomething won⯑derful, ſuch, and ſo many were the oddities I was witneſs to, in the courſe of this memorable viſit, that I could not help betraying by looks, geſtures, and even words, the entire aſtoniſh⯑ment of my ſoul.

There was in every room through which we paſt, either a couch, a ſopha, [178]or a kind of tent bed; and when we came to Pinguefont himſelf, at our firſt entrance, the enormous bulk of his body, ſo upheaved its vaſtneſs, and ſwelled upon the eye, that, what I had before conſidered as the extra⯑vagance of fable, I now found unex⯑aggerated truth, and from that very moment, gave ſwift credit for the hiſtory of the Brobdignagians.

Haſt thou, my good reader, never taken a journey through the romantic roads of Derbyſhire, or made an excurſion beſide the boundaries of Briſtol, or rambled round the rocky regions of Scotland, or any other country, pregnant with poetical ſenti⯑ment, and favourable to the alliterative bard?—Hath it not ſometimes hap⯑pened, in theſe thy wanderings, that [179]truſting to the ſure foot of thy ſteed, or yielding to the laſſitude of a chaiſe, thou haſt inadvertently fallen into a momentary nap, out of which, ſome jolt or ſtumble hath on a ſudden arouſed thee? At that inſtant, perad⯑venture, the firſt and indeed only object that can command thy atten⯑tion, is the dead blank of ſome mighty mountain, diſplaying its unweildly length and breadth before thee. If thou recollecteſt the ſurpriſe of ſuch a ſight, thou wilt conceive ſome idea of the ſenſation which the prepoſter⯑ous Pinguefont occaſioned in my breaſt, when I firſt beheld him: and that, even though I ſaw him as was ſaid before, wedged in his chair. His perſon however, and eſpecially his face, was pleaſing in ſpite of pleni⯑tude, [180]nor was it perhaps in nature to perſerve more of the agreeable in fea⯑tures which maintained ſuch a pro⯑fuſion of fleſh. His complexion was almoſt femininely fair, and the only apparent defects about him were in his eyes, which were heavy, large, and lethargic.

As ſoon as he ſaw us, he very cor⯑dially deſired us to ſit down, apolo⯑gizing at the ſame time, for his own rudeneſs in keeping his ſeat; but ſaid he, ſmiling, you ſee gentlemen how it is, you might as well move the houſe as the maſter—what of that? Laugh and grow fat is my rule, and I will maintain it againſt all the ſtarveling maxims upon earth Eat, drink, and ſleep—that's the ſcience; eat and ſleep care away, drink and be merry [181]—Heh?—what ſay you?—then turn⯑ing his eyes to me—you'll excuſe me, ſir—every man in own humour you know. By all means (ſaid I) ſir, bowing. He applied to the bell which was at his elbow. A ſervant came creeping on tiptoe, and cocked his eye through a little oval hole in the door, which was concealed on the outſide by a ſmall green curtain; after which he diſappeared a few mo⯑ments, and then came into the room without ceremony. The alderman (for ſuch he was) inquired about dinner, and being told that it was not to be ready till four o'clock, and that now it was but barely one, pro⯑teſted he muſt have a ſnack for all that, aſſuring us at the ſame time, that he had not eat any thing theſe [182] three hours. The man diſappeared a ſecond time, and we now were all ſeated on the aforeſaid 18th of July, round ſuch a fire, as in the ſeverity of a Siberian winter, might have been extremely comfortable, and agreeably ſcorching. My friend reading a ſuf⯑ficient degree of aſtoniſhment in my features, was going, I believe in a whiſper to relieve me; but on caſting his eye upon the late laughing Pingue⯑font, he found a whiſper unneceſſary; for the Alderman had forgone his ſnack, and without giving us the leaſt warning of his intentions, was faſt warning of his intentions, was faſt aſleep with his face parallel to the firſt bar of the grate. Heaven, ſaid I, if the gentleman—huſh ſaid Blake—The footman again came ſquinting to the door, but how he got off I know not, [183]for my eye ſaw not, neither did my ear, hear any thing like the fall of a foot. My friend now informed me, that the Alderman was ſubject to ſomnific fits, which often ſet him to ſleep in a minute; and that he has been actually known to ſtand en⯑tranced, while his own horſe, on whoſe ſucceſs great betts were de⯑pending, while he was galloping round the courſe. That cut in the door, is on purpoſe for the ſervants to ſee whether the Alderman is ſleeping or waking: if the former, they muſt on no account diſturb him, although the moſt urgent buſineſs require it; and this is a ſtipulated article in his agree⯑ment with all his adherents, a breach of which is the forfeiture of their places. Perhaps he will continue in [184]this ſituation a great while, and poſ⯑ſibly he may wake in a moment; and when he does, he will make ample amends to you for the loſs of time. He had ſcarce finiſhed, when the Al⯑derman exclaimed,—what are you at, raſcals?—Zounds and the devil, bring up the dinner. This exclamation ap⯑peared to be a vagarie of ſleep, but as if the idea of eating, even in a dream, was ſufficient to beat an alarm to appetite, Pinguefont, uncloſed his eyes, and again fixt his finger, as if mechanically upon the bell. At the ſame time, looking at us.—Ah my, dear friends, ſaid he, pray forgive me—pray forgive me, young ſtranger; your companion knows my humour, and all the world can tell you, that I ſleep more than all things on earth: [185]but come, perhaps I ſhall now have an uninterrupted hour, and if I don't have ſixty minutes feſtivity for it, I ſhall accuſe myſelf of murder. Din⯑ner this moment, Timotheus, ſaid he to the ſervant, who now came into the room after the uſual prefatory peep; for it ſeems, if the company were ever ſo numerous, no domeſtic was ſuffered to anſwer any bell which was not rung by the maſter. Mr. Timotheus made a nimble exit, and in leſs than ten minutes came to in⯑form us, the table waited, and the company were all come.—I looked ſignificantly ignorant at my friend: he muſtered a ſmile—and we walked ſolemn and ſlow in the rear of the mighty Pinguefont.

[186]After Pinguefont had plentifully appeaſed the vehement attacks of his appetite, and was preparing to enjoy the jollity of his friend and bottle, a ſomnific fit again overtook him, his vacant eye cloſed upon the company, and, in the next inſtant, he was ſnor⯑ing in his chair.

Bountiful heaven! ſaid I, upon what an animal the ſun of thy proſ⯑perity ſhineth! And can it be poſ⯑ſible, that a creature endowed with ſuch faculties as man, formed alſo for immortal purpoſes, ſhould limit his ambition to the pleaſures of food and ſleep? Can that be happineſs? Can the ſoaring mind be contented with ſuch groſs corporeal gratifications? Or can he whoſe exiſtence is confined to the narrow circle of a few fleeting [187]years, ſuffer them to eſcape without leaving any traces that deſerves re⯑collection? The buſineſs of that mortal's life, is to eat, drink, and ſleep; and by ſuch marks alone ſhall be remembered in his generation! How is it then that (trifler as he is) Plenty ſmiles at his table, and Peace ſpreads her plumes over his pillow? How many beds are there in this houſe, which neither the ſleeping proprietor, nor his friends can occupy? Ah that the limbs of the wanderer, the widow, the fatherleſs, and thoſe who are now vainly in ſearch of a ſhelter might find it here!

The courſe of theſe reflections were impeded by a tap upon the ſhoulder from Mr. Blake, who, informing me in a whiſper, that the joke was paſſed, and that Pinguefont had diſcovered [188]as much of himſelf as was worth ſeeing, propoſed that we ſhould take advantage of his preſent ſituation; and, under cover of the cloſed eyelid, make the beſt of our way to a diſh of tea with his (Blake's) houſe⯑keeper.

Never was there a more ſerene or beautiful afternoon than that which was now before us, and every object was gilded by the mildeſt beams of the ſun. Blake bade me take notice of the ſcene, and derive from it freſh ſources of entertainment.

Ah Mr. Blake, ſaid I, thoſe circum⯑ſtances which were lately ſo agree⯑able, have loſt their power: neither the oddities of a Pinguefont, nor the chearful rays of an evening ſun can inſpire the vivacity which, a few weeks [189]ſince, broke out upon every occaſion; and believe me, ſir, the ſcene you recommend to my attention, might as well have been inveloped in a fog —my friend is in the grave, and the woman whom I loved has deceived me.

Pſhaw! rejoined Blake—don't deſ⯑pair; admitting that friend to be valuable, and that miſtreſs handſome, have they, do you ſuppoſe, mono⯑polized all the merit and beauty to themſelves? No ſurely. Prithee then, Benignus, caſt thine eye upon ſome other objects, and never doubt but your preſent loſs, however great, admits of reparation. As you are a book man, let the poets adminiſter conſolation: they may properly be called the ſons of hope; and a youth [190]of imagination, as you are, may be entertained with the proſpects of the Muſe, that is, an ingenious head, when all the ſuggeſtions of the ſoul, which is mightily addicted to plain proſe—will only ſerve to vex, and make you melancholy. Recollect what old Shakeſpeare ſays, upon the ſubject of a loſt miſtreſs. Some verſes are at this moment flowing to the tip of my tongue, exactly in point.

If this will not ſatisfy you, hear more.

In ſhort, Benignus, to end the whole matter, and if you will allow me once more to reinforce my ar⯑gument with thoſe of the Poet:

For the preſent however, let us walk briſkly towards the tea-table, where I dare ſay by this time, the few worthy friends I expected, are in waiting for us.

Though I received but little com⯑fort from his quotations, I thanked [192]him, and preſently came within view of his handſome houſe-keeper.

CHAP. CXXXVI.

Under all this appearance of ho⯑neſty and good humour, I had ſoon too much reaſon to diſcover that Blake was a villain. The company he expected conſiſting of two ſtran⯑gers, to whom he introduced me as his particular friend, were aſſem⯑bled in the front parlour, about five minutes before us, and the houſe⯑keeper was entertaining them with her uſual vivacity.

This ſame houſe-keeper I have al⯑ready deſcribed as a lively, buxom, plump, pleaſurable woman, and her [193]company was ſo chearful, that it was impoſſible for melancholy itſelf, not to abate ſomething of its uſual gloom in it. But, how juſt, as proper, is it upon all occaſions to remember, that "all which glitters is not gold," and to act indeed, as if we apprehended people were impoſing upon us a much baſer metal, gaudily gilded upon the ſurface in order to make it paſs current.

The fatal evening was however now before me. Soon after tea, Mr. Blake (who by the by, was unuſually lively) informed us that he had re⯑ceived a preſent, of which he inſiſted upon it, we ſhould have the maiden⯑head: no leſs, gentlemen, ſaid he, than a hamper of the beſt Burgundy that ever ſparkled to the eye, and [194]invited the ſons of ſorrow to good ſpirits.

The ſtrangers aſſented to the pro⯑poſal, and I (whoſe buſineſs was to prevent melancholy, either by drown⯑ing it in the glaſs, or any other way) did not remain obſtinate: Bumpers were the word—Blake and his friends (who hoſpitably inſiſted on my ſwal⯑lowing more than I could bear) af⯑fected at length to be ſubdued, and were rolling before ſupper under the table, from whence the ſervants, with much ſeeming difficulty, bore them up ſtairs.

Mrs. Blake herſelf, had indulged in a glaſs extraordinary on this occaſion. —It was a calm night—the claret took poſſeſſion of my brain—folly, and forgetfulneſs triumphed.—Mrs. [195]Blake looked "nothing loath;"—there was a couch in the room—ſhe was but a houſekeeper—occaſion aſſiſted the revel of the pulſes—reaſon toppled, and—to my ſhame be it ſpoken, I indulged the delicious inſanity, and rioted in the overwhelming tempta⯑tion of the moment.

At this criſis, the door was burſt open — Blake and his companions ruſhed in, the former running to his piſtols which were ſlung acroſs the chimney-piece, and roaring out as he ran—Oh villain, villain!—you have made a proſtitute of my lawful wife. I'll ſhoot you through the head—you have taken advantage of my gratitude and friendſhip, to diſ⯑honour my ſacred wife.—Oh villain, villain! I will kill you on the ſpot." [196]At the end of this harangue, he ac⯑tually cocked the piſtol, apparently in a great rage, and preſented it to my head, when one of his companions catching him by the arm, diſſuaded him from the horrible crime of mur⯑der, alledging that Mrs. Blake was not worth it—but adviſed him, never⯑theleſs, to ſeek redreſs for this bleed⯑ing injury, from the laws of the land. Then ſtruggling with him, they by main force got him out of the room, and left us again together.

The conſequences of this conduct (to tell my folly in a few words) were, my being caſt in a court of juſtice—having my name ten times more blown upon than before—feeling more poignantly than ever the ſtings of my own conſcience, and being [197]compelled to pay into the hands of Blake, two thouſand five hundred pounds by way of damages.

CHAP. CXXXVII.

Though I was ſoon convinced, Mrs. Blake was in the plot reſ⯑pecting the proſecution; yet it hither⯑to never once entered my head, that ſhe was at once a wife, and a proſtitute; for ſhe really acted the bluſhful buſineſs ſo well, and yielded in ſo coy a manner, that I always ſup⯑poſed the kiſſing part of the ſtory, according to the proverb, went ſo far by favour, that I was the ſecond perſon who had ſubdued the citadel of her virtue. But the very day [198]after I had paid my damage money, I found certain ſymptoms that pret⯑ty plainly denoted, the huſband was not the only perſon who, literally ſpeaking, received an injury. In a word, I was obliged to make enquiries after a doctor. But I did not much like to aſk Benjamim, or a ſervant, about phyſical people (ſo ſuſpicious is guilt) leſt he might gueſs the na⯑ture of my complaint; to prevent which, I ſneaked into a coffee-houſe, and ſetting myſelf down (like a de⯑jected wretch as I was) in a ſolitary box, began to read the papers, which, I recollected, were commonly half filled with the noſtrums of theſe gen⯑try.

Amongſt a number of adverti⯑ſers, each of which profeſſed to cure [199]the moſt dreadful diſorder, ſooner than any other medicine in Europe; I was principally attracted by one that un⯑dertook to make a man of me again, for five gnineas; and that too by the gentleſt remedy in the world, "with⯑out loſs of time, hindrance of buſi⯑neſs, or perſonal confinement." But what weighed moſt with me, was his N. B. at the bottom, wherein he engaged himſelf, as a man of honour, to keep my ſecret; and that, more⯑over, there was a private door, for the convenience of cuſtomers, who for the ſake of delicacy, might not chooſe to come into the open ſhop.

This was the very thing I wanted, and taking down the direction from the advertiſement, I made the beſt of my way to the private door.

[200]It is really ſurpriſing to conſider how often the ſoul extracts honey from poiſon, or in other words, good from evil.

As I went along the ſtreet, I thought myſelf under ſome ſort of obligation to Mrs. Blake; for to own the truth, I had now ſome little ſuſ⯑picion that her huſband might have drawn her into this infamous mea⯑ſure of obtaining a ſum of money, and that I had on my part, a charge againſt my conſcience for being only the ſecondary inſtrument of her de⯑bauchery. Upon the whole there⯑fore, I congratulated myſelf upon this diſcovery, and as I ſuppoſed my health would (agreeable to the pro⯑miſes of the advertiſer) be perfectly re⯑ſtored to me in a fortnight, I en⯑deavoured [201]to make light of the mat⯑ter, and walked briſkly away to a ſhop a few doors from the Bell Savage, on Ludgate-hill. The maſter, whoſe name was Drug, happened to be then in the ſhop, and conducted me into a little parlour—where being ſeated he bade me not be alarmed, for that, ſuch misfortunes were quite faſhionable, and he would ſet me to rights in a hurry.

Not, however, to trouble the reader with a repetition of this fellow's abo⯑minable crambo converſation, be it enough to obſerve that, after having tampered with me for ſix weeks, and picking my pocket of 20 guineas; (for the five guineas, it ſeems, was only a compliment for the care, and the reſt were for medicines) he left me in a ſituation ſo much worſe, [202]that I was forced at laſt, to ſeek relief from a man of reputation, and who had the additional labour to undo every thing that had been done for, or rather againſt me, by Dr. Drug.

I was not able to quit my chamber for two months, during which time, I ordered myſelf to be denied to every body, (Mrs. Darlington and Alicia had long given me up) and was thought to be dead by all my acquaintances. At laſt I began to pick up a little. Benjamin, only Benjamin was ſuffered to be admitted to me as a friend. I was ſo weak with grief, diſeaſe, and water-gruel, that I could hardly crawl from chair to chair: and the firſt time I ſurveyed my figure in the glaſs, I fainted away at the horror of ſuch an alteration.

[203]In the midſt of a ſituation like this it was, that I found my affairs were in a deſperate condition, that my careleſſneſs had ſubjected me to the moſt expenſive impoſitions; and that to complete the whole, Mrs. Darling⯑ton had received a viſit from the Grocer, who, after having by my means, recovered his wife and daughter, loaded me with every epithet that could diſgrace the hu⯑man character.

CHAP. CXXXVIII.

At this moſt critical juncture, I received a long epiſtle from Mr. Greaves, to whom, in the height of my miſeries (in order to ſoothe the [204]languid hours of confinement) I wrote a fair, and full account of myſelf ſince his departure. His epiſtle is too eſtimable; and the great fact it elucidates too important, either to abridge or ſuppreſs, as it may be conſidered in the light of a moral to all my enterpriſes, and all the ſad effects ariſing from them; upon which account I ſhall give it to my reader entire, both as a treaſure, and as a caveat.

CHAP. CXXXIX.